


Music With Your Dad

by oldrazzle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Jealousy, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, quinntana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldrazzle/pseuds/oldrazzle
Summary: Santana's dad is a wealthy businessman with a penchant for young, beautiful women who are half his age. Midlife crisis? More like life-long crisis. His new fiancée is rude, cold, and a bitch. She's also drop-dead gorgeous and irresistible. (Un)lucky for Santana.
Relationships: Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez
Comments: 42
Kudos: 168





	1. Meeting The Other Half

You haven't seen your dad in approximately six months and within those six months, he's had two girlfriends and one fiancée - the latter being the woman you were to meet later tonight.

Oh, joy... you can't wait.

He's coming to the city to see how you're settling in with the new place he set you up with and the new job you recently snagged.

With barely a penny to your name after graduating, he helped you out and rented an apartment so that you could stay in the city and still have the same opportunities you had whilst studying here. He's always offered to support you financially and for that you're grateful. He might not have been the most attentive parent, but he was always there when you needed to buy books for college.

Which you suppose is one way to show love, right?

And if that's the case, the allowance he gave you meant he really loved you. However, you staunchly avoided dipping into it for anything but the necessities. You know, necessities like food, drink, clothes, shoes, and... partying. 

Post-grad you've been interning at a law firm to gain some more experience in the field and have told your dad to not involve himself and put a word in. Although, it wasn't too long before whispers spread throughout the office and your position was bumped up to an assistant to the personal assistant of one of the named directors at the firm.

Nepotism aside, you're actually a decent worker and you like to think you'd have wormed your way up the ladder on your own merit, eventually. To complain about it feels stupid but sometimes you'd like to get things on your own, you know?

Regardless, the main point is that your dad is hot-shit. Everybody who has bottomless pockets knows who he is.

And with money comes a plethora of women - power too, of course.

Tonight he is taking you to a fancy dinner and has encouraged you to splash on something nice, and you have.

You admire your reflection in the vanity mirror of your lavish bedroom. The bohemian aesthetic may have given the impression that it wasn't so chic, but trust. That paisley rug at the foot of the bed cost an arm and a leg. Okay, okay. Maybe you dipped into your allowance once or twice for reasons that weren't involving the so-called necessities.

In the mirror your dark eyes stare back, your lips a striking red - it has always been your colour - and the form-fitting little black number you were sporting bordered on inappropriate for a father-daughter meal, but fuck it. You smirk at your reflection as you primp your hair. It had taken forever to get the wave in it just right, but god. You look so fucking good.

The message tone from your phone draws your attention and you snatch it up of the dresser as you adjust the hem of the dress.

_Pops: We're here. Are you almost ready? x_

You roll your eyes. He knows you're not but you reply: _Leaving rn_ , anyway.

Spritzing yourself with perfume you leave your bedroom in search of your clutch. You swear you had it last night at after-work drinks. Your phone chimes again from where you tucked it into your bra.

_B: You busy tonight?_

That's right. You had gone to Brittany's after drinks. You must've left it there.

You grumble in annoyance. You didn't want to carry your phone in your bra all night.

Heading back into your bedroom you root through your walk-in closet and decide to use your old clutch; crimes against fashion be damned.

"Sweetheart!" Your dad calls as you follow the maître d' to your table.

A smile finds its way to your lips instantly, you'd missed that rasp. "Daddy." You say as you hug him.

"Where have you been? We thought you'd be here ages ago."

We? That's right. The fiancée.

"Oh, you know how traffic is." You comment, the vagueness assuaging any guilt you might've had from outright lying.

As your dad steps aside you see her. Golden blonde locks, striking hazel eyes, red lips that almost match your own, and perfect gleaming teeth as she smiles at you - any genuine warmth severely lacking.

"This is Quinn," he says holding his hand out to introduce her. "And this, dear Quinn, is my beautiful daughter Santana."

"It's nice to finally put a face to the name." Quinn reaches a hand out of her own and you're unsure as to whether you're meant to kiss or shake it. You settle in the middle and briefly hold it in yours. Her skin is soft and considerably cool. The rock on her finger adding to the icy effect you're sure.

"Same." You say dumbly, you didn't even know her name before tonight. But you doubt admitting that would do anybody any favours.

You all settle in your seats and you can't help glancing up from your menu every now and then to stare. She catches you the third time you do it and you quickly glance back down, you can feel the heat biting at your cheeks already.

"What are you getting, Santana?" Your dad asks, taking a sip from his wine.

You look at him trying, but failing, to avoid Quinn's eyes on you.

"I'm not sure. Erm," your eyes involuntarily catch hers and you notice a sly smirk on her lips, "will you order for me?"

"Of course. And you, dear?" You scrunch your nose at his term of endearment for Quinn. It made her sound as though she was eighty, and eighty she was not - she was late twenties at most.

Dad always had a penchant for young, beautiful women who were half his age. You suppose love knows no bounds when money doesn't either.

"You know what I like, my love." Quinn husks and your skin crawls.

Your dad, however, loves it and chuckles at her suggestive tone. "Oh yes I do," he winks at her.

"Dad, please."

"Bah, Santana! I'm in love." He scoops Quinn's hands in his and kisses her knuckles.

"And how many times have I heard that before?"

"You're such a cynic." He turns to Quinn. "She's just like her mother."

"Oh, really?" Quinn quirks an eyebrow at you and you don't like whatever she's thinking, the all-amused tone she was taking really rubbed you the wrong way.

"Just order." You snap.

"You should really mind your manners." Quinn has the cheek to reprimand.

"Excuse me?" You can't quite believe she said that.

"You're excused."

"Ladies, please." You dad tries to placate. "Santana, behave. For me."

"I'm not a child."

Quinn makes a sound of disagreement that has you almost reaching over and pulling her hair out, but instead you settle on glaring at her.

The cool stare you receive in return unnerves you a little. The slight quirk of her lip even more so.

Determined to be the Kennedy rather than the Khrushchev in this situation you steel yourself to not be the one that blinks first. That was how it went, right? The Cuban Missile Crisis was not on your list of favoured topics in history.

"So, Santana. I hear you're an assistant now." Your dad says, forcing you to look away. Fuck.

"Yeah, I mean I was the one who told you."

He barks out a laugh, "It was!" He looks to his fiancée, "It was, Quinn."

Quinn's smile is taught and about as fake as your dad's veneers.

Dinner is tense to say the least. You eat in silence, wishing time away. Your dad though? No. He talks and talks. You wonder how he ever knows anything about anybody the way he never lets anyone have a word in edgewise.

And Quinn? You try to ignore her the best you can. She might be super hot, but you know a bitch when you see one. You know your own.

Speaking of. You roll your eyes for the second time that night at your dad regaling his 'glory' days to catch Quinn staring at you. Why was this chick giving you vibes?

Wishful thinking maybe?

You scoff a laugh at yourself and finish the last few drops of the Manhattan your dad had ordered for you.

And as per, your eyes drift back to Quinn and find her still looking but now smiling at you.

You're not sure if you should be worried or not. That smile looked like a trap. A trap you wouldn't mind getting caught in. But a trap nonetheless.

"Well, sweetheart. It was a pleasure as always. I'm in the city for a couple of days, we'll have to do this again." Your dad says between kisses on both of your cheeks.

Quinn stands and you're suddenly feeling a little hotter. You didn't realise she was taller than you.

She reaches her hand out like last time and you instinctively go to hold it. What you don't expect is to have her leaning in to kiss your cheek as well.

You hold your breath as her soft lips graze your skin, your grip on her hand tightens before it slackens. Her smug smile as she leans back has indignation and something else burn hot inside of you. She still hasn't let go of your hand and you can't hold your breath forever. You thought you smell good. She smells divine and it's all going to your head.

"Santana." Quinn says in lieu of goodbye and you nod. Missing the contact as soon as she lets go.

Waiting outside for a cab you light up a cigarette. You got out of there as soon as you could, leaving those two to sort out the bill or get out whatever the fuck they'd checked in. Taking a slow drag you blow the smoke out of the side of your mouth as you tuck your free hand under your arm out of reflex rather than to keep it warm.

Well wasn't she just a piece of work. Where'd she get off talking to you like you were five? Does she not realise your dad could be hers? The more you think about it the more aggressive your drags become. "So fucking rude," you grumble under your breath.

Lost in thought you're unaware of the sound of approaching heels clicking behind you, the tap to your shoulder makes you jolt in surprise.

As you swing around to face whoever it is their voice reaches your ears before you see them, "I didn't mean to scare you," the voice says with an amused lilt. "You left your bag inside."

Quinn's standing before you.

You thought you'd escaped her and wouldn't have to see her for at least another day.

"Oh, thanks." You take your clutch back, but she doesn't move to leave. You raise an eyebrow at her and she lets out a low chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"That would be telling now wouldn't it?"

There's a pause where you eye each other for a moment. Neither one of you seem inclined to say anything but you start to feel a little awkward.

"I wouldn't leave my dad waiting. He hates that."

"Is that why you were late?" She replies quickly.

You take another drag to stop yourself from smiling. "Maybe."

"Real mature." She drawls and you're starting to wonder why she's hanging around. You can't quite get a read as to whether she's joking with you or picking at you. Priding yourself on being able to judge people, it both intrigues and frustrates you.

"Anything else?"

She gives you a once over and you hate that you kind of like the way she looks at you with a hint of disdain.

"No." Her eyes meet yours again. "I'll be seeing you, Santana."

"Sure." You murmur as you watch the sway of her retreating hips before she climbs into your dad's black Rolls-Royce.

Shaking your head you pull out your phone and are reminded you never replied to Brittany.

_Srry was out w my dad. I'm not busy anymore if ur down?_

Brittany pings you her location and you redirect your taxi to the bar she works at.

You'd become friends after becoming somewhat a regular at the bar she tends. Your work "friends" had been going there for a while before they brought you along with them after a long day at work. You're never sure when someone is being nice to you because of your dad or just because you're awesome at work, so Brittany was refreshing to say the least. She didn't give a shit and that suited you just fine.

Her shifts usually coincided with after-hours, so after the first couple of times of getting your round in you'd purposely go to her side of the bar in hopes she'd serve you. And she would. It became a given and you eventually built up the nerve to ask her more than if she had a straw.

A low whistle greets you on the way through the doors and you laugh knowing it had to be the tall blonde behind the bar.

"Look at you." She grins and you do your best to flick your hair back seductively.

Coyly you say, "Who? Me?"

"Yes, you."

You slide up onto a stool and take a napkin to wipe the side.

"Have I not cleaned it to your standards?" Brittany teases.

Taking your index finger you run a line down the bar and rub your fingertip with your thumb, "Hm. I think it will do for now."

She hits you with her damp towel that usually hangs from her belt and you try to lean out of range. Fat chance of that happening.

"Okay, okay. I give. Habit, I swear."

She squints at you in question, but her expression soon gives way to her smile. "Okay, I believe you."

"You almost finished here?"

"Eager are we?" Her blue eyes sparkle with knowing.

You smirk in return.

"Well, my shift doesn't end for another twenty if you want a drink while you wait?"

"Sure. Hit me."

You take a sip and scope the crowd, nothing too exciting, unfortunately. Usually people watching in a bar is a guaranteed free show, but tonight it's kind of slow. You return your attention to Brittany who is happily chatting away with one of the regulars who'd come up to order. You wonder if the fact that you know who the regulars are says anything about you. Probably not, you dismiss.

Although you and Brittany have always flirted with the idea of getting together you've never actually done the deed. You're not really sure why, honestly. She's hot and so are you. You get on and she doesn't drive you insane like other people do. Maybe that's why. You'd hate to ruin a good thing by sleeping together and fucking up your friendship when you both realise a relationship is not going to work. Worse, one of you catch feelings and the other doesn't. Been there, done that. Got the fucking t-shirt.

Even thinking about the whole debacle sours your mood. You frown over the rim of your glass.

"A horse walks into a bar."

You scoff out a laugh and meet Brittany's eyes, she looked all too pleased with herself.

"I'm ready, want to come round back whilst I change?"

"How could I refuse such an enticing offer?"

She raises an eyebrow at you but smiles all the same. "Come on, Missy. Follow me."

And you do just that. Brittany is a quick dresser, needing only a few minutes to retouch her make-up, favouring getting out of here to fussing over perfection.

"I don't know how you do it. It'd take me forever," you comment as you watch her brush her hair through and tie it back up.

"I have it down to a fine art by now." She dusts her own dress down of imaginary dirt and turns to you, "Done."

"Perfection."

She curtseys, "Why thank you."

Before leaving, Brittany "accidentally" slips a small bottle of vodka from the supply closet into her bag and you both make pace. Neither of you have anything to worry about though, the place is a bit of a shithole and you've seen Brittany do just as much many times before and she'd never been pulled up on it. To be fair, even if she was caught you're sure she'd get away with it somehow. She had that innocent act down pat.

You share sips in the taxi to the club, pushing through the burn of drinking it straight. The things you do to save money.

Brittany flashes her butter wouldn't melt smile at the bouncer and you skip the line and go to coat-check. As she hands her bag over you look around her to look through the glass panel of the otherwise solid black door. Lights are flashing and the deep thud of the bass can be felt through the floor and walls.

You found a fellow party-animal in Brittany. There was nothing more attractive than somebody who danced with confidence, somebody who had the enthusiasm to have a good time. And to find out Brittany could dance well was just a bonus. The fact you'd met at all was an act of pure brilliance by the universe.

The club you'd come to was a gay one, thankfully. You don't think you could cope with unwanted grinding and wandering hands, specifically from the opposite sex, after the week you've had. Honestly though, you've never had the patience for it. Thank fuck you came to your senses before graduating college. One more boyfriend and you might've lost your mind wondering why you had to close your eyes and think of cheerleading warm-ups to finish.

It's been a few hours since arriving, you're in Brittany's arms, hot and sweaty from the heaving bodies around you and the close proximity with the beautiful woman in front of you. She blows the hair that's fallen in her face away and you laugh as she goes cross-eyed as she does.

"You're stupid cute," you say.

"What?" She shouts over the music and you nod your head back to have her lean closer.

"I said, you're stupid cute." When Brittany leans back she's grinning and biting her lip. You lean back up on your tip-toes and hold onto her shoulders, "You are." You say by her ear.

She's still bashful when you're back in front of her and you hate that she shrugs, but you're pretty sure she's pleased because she's even more excitable when the next song starts up.

"It's our song!" You hear her say, just barely, over the music. Even if you hadn't heard you'd know what she was saying anyway. This was your song!

You're surprised when she lifts you up and spins you, your hands quickly pulling the hem of your dress back down so not to flash everybody. She lifts you with such ease you're wondering if she's been working out or just naturally strong.

"Britt!" You laugh, having to relinquish one of your hands to hold the back of Brittany's sweaty neck.

She looks up at you with a big, cheesy grin but soon puts you down, leaving you looking up instead.

"Sorry," she mouths sheepishly, but she's not sorry judging by the mischievous glint in her eye. And you don't want her to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was honestly just going to be a naughty Quinntana fic but then I was like hmm. And now this *may* very well be a sneaky Brittana fic by the end (update: it's not). The song that inspired this is in the title, it's by Nasty Cherry if you want a cheeky listen. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed reading!


	2. Friction

The next morning you wake with a pounding head, a dry mouth and an aching stomach. You could really go for something to eat right now, but the mere thought of moving? No, just no.

Groaning you reach out for your phone, it's routine by now, patting your side table before moving to the sheets that surround you. Oh how much easier this would be if you just opened your eyes. Your fingers never fail you though and you feel the cool back of it under your pillow. Clicking it on you squint to check the time and see three texts from your dad and one from Brittany.

You open Brittany's first and it reads: _liope youu gotr ho9me sadffe_ , received at 4:32 am.

You quickly tap out a _srry, fell asleep as soon as I got in lol._ Followed by a _had fun last night as per the ushhhh x_

Vaguely you can recall the taxi ride home and watching a drunken Brittany fall out of the passenger side door once the car had pulled up outside of her apartment. You may have laughed and leant out of the window to blow her a kiss as she buzzed herself in. And she may have blown a kiss back that you pretended to catch. And then the taxi guy yelled at you to sit back in the car.

What were you forgetting? Your face scrunches in thought.

Ugh, fuck. Your bag! It's basically Brittany's at this point. You're never going to remember to get it back.

Another groan rumbles its way out of your half-dead body as you pull down the notifications and check out what your dad wants now.

_Hello, my lovely daughter! ___

____

____

_I have a networking event this evening and I think you should come._

_It will be fun! X_

Your brow furrows at the word. Fun? You think. Fun your fucking ass. You've been to one of these events before and all you were was a talk piece for your dad. "Oh have you met my daughter? Yes, she's blah blah blah blah." And there was not one question actually directed at you that didn't pertain to boyfriends or asking "Mr Lopez is your dad?"

However, you wonder if a certain somebody might be there too. You can't imagine your dad would pass up an opportunity to show off his new girlfrie- fiancée.

You're not sure whether that'd be a good thing or not. Regardless, you'll go. If your dad taught you anything it was that connections mattered. You suppose your dad is your best connection, but making a name for yourself is important if you want to make bank. Being a lawyer will help, but the rich clientele even more so.

Before you even start law school you'll have some names in your back pocket. Or at least you hope.

What are you even thinking? Of course you will.

Finally having allowed your body to regain some life to it you sit up with a slight sway. With a, "Whoa there," muttered to yourself you roll out of bed and stagger to your bathroom to shower, stripping away the clothes you'd not managed to get out of the night before.

You let the water run for a minute before getting in and it gives you time to stretch out your lethargic muscles. Stepping into the stream of hot water your body relaxes, all of the grime and sweat of the night before washing right off of you.

Flashes of last night begin to flood your mind and a slight smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. Brittany is just so cool. Like, what the fuck? Why couldn't your friends from college or work be more like Brittany? To be fair, they may think the same about you. Not the wishing more people were like you part, the wishing you were more like Brittany part. And honestly, you wouldn't blame them.

She is fun to be around, always positive and she's full of energy despite the shit she has to put up with at the bar. The thought of being as sweet as she is for a fraction of the time she is makes your teeth ache.

Thoroughly clean and fresh you wrap a soft towel around you, wiping the condensation from the mirror to check your reflection.

Not too bad. Definitely not as rough as before.

And then you catch something. Something new. Was that a bruise?

You thumb at the light mark on your neck, your heart thudding at what it could potentially mean. The closer you look the more you realise it's nothing. A trick of the light.

Thank fuck for that.

The rest of your day is spent mostly lounging around, ordering in and waiting to get ready to do it all again tonight. Not that you're complaining. Your body most certainly is not either. Before you know it it's time to get dolled up and ready, time to flex your social muscles.

Thanking the driver you climb out of the taxi you'd taken to the venue. From what you remember from your quick Google search earlier it was a contemporary art gallery where the art was sold because of the name of the artist, not the art itself. A very too-rich-for-taste vibe.

You had since called your dad about meeting him inside and he'd told you he'd find you and to use his name at the door. Okay, you guess? Way to make this fun. You really can't blame him though. He's doing you a favour whether he means it intentionally or not. A game of hide and seek you can handle. You plaster on a smile and approach the door, flirting with the security for good measure, and give the Lopez name and charm that works almost every time.

Drinks are offered as soon as you step through the swanky threshold and you thank the young woman serving you a flute of champagne from a tray balanced on her hand. You'd been a waitress once and you sucked. Sorry you couldn't hold fifteen things at once. And anyway, your boss was a creep and you were only doing it to appease your dad. "You need a good work ethic, Santana." He'd say. And you'd nod and put it off and nod once more when he'd call you out.

After that, you stuck with just the studying and the grades were enough to have your dad leaving you alone.

A good half hour of milling around a middle-aged crowd you start to feel antsy. The conversations you've had and business cards you've collected have all been a little taxing on your attention-span. Why was business so boring? Where was this "fun" you were promised?

"Santana? I thought it might be you. There are not many women who would come to an event like this dressed like _that_." A voice remarks beside you, making you grind your teeth. This fucking bitch again.

"Oh, Quinn. What a pleasure," you smile, the lack of sincerity clear. "You're still with my dad then? My, my, you're breaking his record."

"I've always been an overachiever."

"I bet."

And then she surprises you. She snorts and no, not in derision. Rather, she's laughing? Why are you so proud of that?

You're both quiet for a few moments, both of you flute in hand and watching the dull crowd mingle.

"What a colourful crowd we're surrounded by." Quinn monotonously comments.

You purse your lips to fight smiling at the joke. "Yes, quite. I'm afraid we might get a noise complaint if we're not careful."

"How frightfully uncouth that would be."

"Not one for trouble?" You tease.

"I didn't say that." She bats right back and you look at her out of the corner of your eye. Interesting.

"Oh?"

Quinn is closer now, you feel the warmth of her body radiating up your right arm as she turns toward you, you're compelled to do the same.

"Don't you think it's boring to be good all the time?" Her eyes are tracing your face and you're worried you'll start burning up if she continues to do so.

"Who says I'm good?" Your confidence wavers on the last word and she gives you that sly smile she's ever so fond of.

"Hmm, I suppose you're not the type."

"The type? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have a rebellious energy."

"You deal in energies? Now that's a surprise. You're definitely not the type."

The slyness of her smile softens and takes a more amused appearance.

"Oh yeah? And what type am I?"

You pretend to ponder it, you're willing to take a stab but everything you assume about Quinn is based off of what? An awkward dinner where you couldn't get a good read and the fact she's going to marry rich? "You seem serious."

Her mouth relaxes, her emotions less obvious, but she continues to keep direct eye contact. You're afraid to look away in case it ruins whatever is happening.

"I suppose I can be. But that's all? That I'm serious?"

Despite not wanting to, you look away out of nervousness. It's an unfamiliar feeling, but it always feels like Quinn knows something you don't. It doesn't help that you don't know what she wants to hear.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly." She says and you believe her.

"I thought you were a bitch and I don't know what to make of you." That's it, you've shown your hand and all you get in return is a small laugh and a bite of her lip.

"Thought?" Her left eye squints in a mixture of doubt and mirth, it's strangely endearing.

"Okay, I _think_ you're a bitch."

That gets her to laugh fully and it's the first time you've heard it. Your own smile widens hearing how genuine it sounds.

"Fair enough," she concedes and the way she looks at you makes you feel warm.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both take a new flute from the woman who served you earlier. Both of you take small glances in each other's direction, you try to temper the warmth from earlier. You hardly know the woman and she's already getting under your skin.

Who are you kidding? She got under your skin the first time you met her.

A slight tickle touches your palm and your breath falters, Quinn's fingers lightly run a short path from palm to wrist.

"What are you doing?" You whisper, heart thudding and stomach erupting with butterflies.

"Nothing." She whispers back and despite the quietness of the words they ring loudly in your ears because if this is 'nothing' you can only wonder what 'something' was.

Her fingers climb higher as they run past your wrist, you grip the glass in your other hand a little tighter. The smallest of touches from this woman was setting you on fire and although rather outwardly innocent, you know the intentions behind the touch are anything but.

Guilt suddenly swarms you and you move to pull away, "I- My dad."

The words are enough to break the spell Quinn was trying to cast. She looks away from you and you follow her gaze. Your dad, suited and booted, hand on the waist of another blonde, pulling her closer in clear view of everyone. Including his fiancée. His hand slips a little lower and you look away in disgust. He was always such a pig. You love him, but you don't begrudge your mom leaving him.

Despite having no real right to feel annoyed by Quinn's flirtation since you were very much open to it not a second ago, the feeling of being used settles in the pit of your stomach and makes you feel uneasy. Quinn was trying to use you to get back at your dad. The added 'and she wasn't actually interested' is shoved down inside of you. Admitting that to yourself would only make you feel worse.

The heat from a second ago quickly twists inside of you to anger, it's your safety setting. When in doubt get angry. Healthy, right?

"What's your game?" You whisper harshly.

Quinn is pulled out of a trance of her own and she turns her head to you with her mouth open. You don't think she's going to reply until "I don't have one," tumbles from her lips. The distant way she says it throws you off for a second but you're not deterred for long.

"Oh, really? Find some other person to make my dad jealous with. I'm not interested."

She has the gall to laugh at you, the stab of hurt you feel is confusing. "I'm not trying to make your dad jealous," she seems conflicted by her own words and her gaze drifts back to your dad groping some stranger, "but he obviously doesn't care about me either way."

This was such a head fuck, but you weren't going to start feeling sorry for her. She's the one marrying your dad for his money.

"Don't worry, he'll break it off before the month is up and then you'll be free to find another walking bank account to suck dry."

"What?" She hisses and the venom of the word makes you swallow, hard.

"You heard me."

"You don't think _he_ chose _me_? That _he_ pursued _me_? He's not some helpless mark, Santana. Have a little more faith in your father."

____

____

It's your turn to laugh. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You're just his flavour of the week that's lasted six weeks too long and he's well overdue a switch up. And honestly, I don't give a shit. Just leave me alone, I'm not interested in your games."

"I told you," she clenches out through her teeth, "I'm not playing games."

"Then just what do you think you're doing?"

Your faces are considerably closer, mindful of not causing too much of a scene whilst your argument gets heated. She snatches at your wrist and pulls you towards to door before you have the mind to pull free. Once in an empty hallway outside of the main gallery she releases you and paces further away.

You follow.

That is until she stops abruptly and spins on her heel, almost causing you to walk straight into her.

The finger digging into your chest causes a stab of pain, but before you can even complain she's off again.

"I don't have time for games," her finger pokes at you again, "it might be hard for you to believe but I don't need your father's money, I'm successful in my own right. I work and provide for myself. Maybe if you knew me you'd know that. And you, you.." She turns away from you and walks a few more paces.

You watch on in confusion and concern. What the fuck is going on?

When she clenches her fists you're wondering if she's going to hit something, preferably not you.

From what you've seen of Quinn you'd think it'd take a lot more button-pushing to have her losing it.

"Are you, er, okay?"

You hear her take a few calming breaths and you lean against the wall as you watch her compose herself.

She turns back around and you unconsciously find yourself admiring her natural beauty - even when distressed. The green of her dress brings out the hint of it in her eyes and draws the eye to the smooth curve of her legs, her heels making her calves flex with every step and turn. And the way her hair is up and styled accentuates her defined jawline and porcelain-like skin of her neck. You wonder what noise she'd make if you kissed her there.

"We won't speak of this again." Her words snap you out of your little fantasy and you mindlessly nod. She comes to stand directly in front of you and you have to look up slightly, "Sorry about any misunderstandings you might have had."

That _you_ might have had? This woman. "Excuse me?"

"You're-"

"Excused. Yeah, I get it. Very funny." You cross your arms, feeling defensive and significantly less bad about winding Quinn up not five minutes ago. "I have no misunderstandings."

"Great." She smiles and you hate how fake she's now being.

You roll your eyes at her and push yourself from the wall to leave, only she goes to hold your wrist again. This time, a lot more gently.

You pause expectantly and wait for her to say something. When she doesn't you pull away from her grip and make your way back to the main gallery. You tell your dad that you've got to go and you're sorry you can't stay. He makes a scene of you leaving as though he'd been with you this whole time.

In the car home you think about how this will be the last time you see your dad for a while if he's not in the city. And while you don't care too much since it's always been the case you can't help wonder what will happen with Quinn. You still can't figure out where she was going with what she said, but you suppose you'll have the time to either forget it altogether or, if you really hate yourself, obsess over it.

You'll focus on forgetting on it. No matter how counterproductive that might be and ironic it sounds.

Work on Monday is uneventful, it's just the usual running for coffee and copying of paper that you were doing when you were an intern. You suppose assistant to an assistant is just that but with a different name. You hope to go to law school at some point now that you have your bachelors, the work you're currently putting in hopefully helping with getting your foot in the door with Sylvester & Schuester because you know how competitive it is to get an actual job as a lawyer here.

On your lunch you arrange to meet with Brittany at the park and you get ice cream at her request even though you could do with something a little more filling.

"How was that event thing?" She asks between licks of her raspberry swirl.

"Don't remind me." You groan.

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing really." Quinn's definition of 'nothing', by the way. "It's just my dad's fiancée was acting all weird."

Brittany's brow furrows, "Really? How come?"

You purse your lips as you consider what to share. You don't want outright say Quinn's been coming on to you, feeling a little high school about the confusing feelings you have towards her. Never mind the "misunderstanding" bullshit she tried to pull. Frankly, you're slightly embarrassed. And on top of that, feeling guilty for even entertaining the idea of hitting that.

"She blows hot and cold and has a huge stick up her ass."

Brittany pokes you a little more, her knack for worming information out of you would be disconcerting if it was anybody else. She must pick up that there's something more in what you don't say because she seems a little downtrodden by the end of the conversations when initially she'd been really excited to see you. Maybe she can tell how conflicted you feel about the whole thing. Or maybe you've been talking about yourself too much. You're such an idiot sometimes. You ask Brittany how she is and she brightens a little but not totally.

"I actually have something of yours," she grins at you and pulls her gym bag into her lap.

"A present?" You joke.

"Depends on what you class as a present."

"Anything you give me is a present."

She laughs at your words, "Okay, okay. It's not an actual gift, don't get your hopes up."

From her bag she pulls your clutch.

"Oh my god," you laugh, "thank you." You place your bag besides you on the bench as you both finish off your ice creams, talking about your day and your plans for the week.

With your goodbyes said you wave her off as she goes in the opposite direction to her dance class and you head back to work. When you get home later that evening you open it up to find a small, pink post-it with a ghost drawn on it and a little "boo" in a speech bubble.

It's sweet and so totally Brittany. You weren't lying earlier about the present thing. You take the post-it and pin it to the bulletin board that hangs in your room.


	3. Slippery Slope

As predicted, you haven't seen your dad in months. You've just come out of the copy room when you get a phone call. Pretending you've forgotten something, you backtrack into the room you just left for some privacy.

Without checking who it is you answer, "Hello?"

"Santana! My dearest darling." Your dad's booming voice comes down the phone; you hold it away from your ear to save your hearing.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"Oh, you know, business in the city. But I couldn't come and not see you now could I?"

"Hmm. I suppose," You say as you absent-mindedly lift the copier lid and close it. Maybe it'd look like you were busy if anybody walked in.

"Well, Quinn has suggested we go and see a show. She managed to get us a box if you could believe it. She's really treating us."

Your hand stills. "Quinn?"

"You haven't forgotten her already have you?" He laughs down the phone.

"No, no. Erm, I just didn't think she'd want me to come along. Wouldn't you prefer a date night?"

"Don't be silly, plenty of time for that another night. And anyway, she insisted."

"Insisted?" Now that you can't quite believe.

"Of course. I think she's taken a shining to you. Maybe you could take her off my hands for a few hours whilst I catch up with the boys afterwards," he chuckles.

You shake your head at his words. "She's not a baby, Dad. I'm not 'taking her off your hands'."

"Bah. You know what I mean. So sensitive," he mutters, "fine, just keep her company. You can have a few drinks together, my treat. It'll be nice. Girls like cocktails right?"

"How you've had so many girlfriends is beyond me."

"It's the Lopez charm. Who do you think you got it from?"

"You're a lost cause," you sigh.

"You love me."

"Of course," and you do, flaws and all. For better or worse.

"I'll text you the details, see you."

"Bye."

You end the call but don't move. Quinn wanted you to come? It didn't make sense. Was it twisted you were kind of excited by the idea of seeing her again?

So much for forgetting about all that shit at the gallery.

You'd actually been pretty good about forgetting what happened, work and other shit that life has been throwing at you have sufficiently kept your mind off of it. Although, you have to admit that sometimes, when sleep is a little harder to come by at night, your mind wanders and you think about how far she'd have gone if you'd let her. If she'd gone anywhere at all. It was only a touch after all.

The door behind you opens with such force it bounces off the wall, you whip around to find the workplace nuisance that is commonly known as Rachel Berry grinning manically at you. You're not sure if she's just high on life, but you wouldn't be surprised if it was something else by the sheer intensity and drive she possesses for the most menial of things.

"Hello, Santana," she strides in, hands full of paper, "are you using that?"

"This?" You point at the copier.

Rachel laughs loudly and obnoxiously, "You're so funny. Everybody says so."

You stare blankly at her.

"Of course I mean that," she says through her smile, her eye twitching ever so slightly.

Wordlessly you step away and around the shorter woman so she can take your place.

"Have at it," you say as you make your escape.

By the time you've made it back to the desk you feel your phone buzz. It's the details your dad mentioned. You bite your lip and wonder if you could get out of this somehow. Maybe you could fall down the stairs or something. Then again, if you legitimately broke something like a leg, or an ankle, running away from Berry would be so much harder.

Decisions, decisions.

You eventually came to the conclusion that a broken leg's cons outweighed the aptly named theatre-fun-times cons (Brittany had helped you with the lists); therefore, on the night that the show was set to go ahead, you were in your apartment dressing for the occasion that would (hopefully) cause less physical pain and emotional suffering.

Mindful of Quinn's judgement you class it up a bit and pull out the deep red dress you reserve for church. Still a little scandalous, but not enough to cause you to burst into flames before you reach the pews. In other words: perfect.

Not that you go to church all that frequently (or at all these days).

Instead of subjecting you to another taxi, your dad has arranged for a driver to pick you up. He really must want you to go. Or _she_ does.

The idea that Quinn would go out of her way to send a car makes you feel a little smug, you can't lie.

Slipping into the back seat, you tuck your dress under you and run your fingers over the bag in your hand. You had painted your nails to match the colour of your dress and neatened them up with a file. Personal grooming has to be one of your favourite past times. There isn't a health and beauty store you haven't crossed and not gone into since moving to New York all those years ago. Some may say it's a sure way to frivolously spend, but those necessities you listed? Consider moisturisers, make-up, nail polish, brow tint, waxing, haircuts and treatments necessities too. 'High maintenance' could be a term to describe you, but you prefer the term 'loving yourself'.

The theatre's soft lighting and distinctive decor brings back memories long repressed of high school and the many trips to shows that the school definitely could not afford but your drama teacher somehow managed to arrange. Damn, Holly Holliday was kind of fine. You linger by the bar in the main entrance as you reminisce and wait for your dad and Quinn. The slight flutter in your chest is ever present and you try to ignore it. You urge you mind back onto the topic of Miss Holliday. Closeted baby Santana had no idea. But looking back you sure did have a big, fat crush on the blonde.

Blonde? Hmm. A theme is emerging.

Speaking of, your attention is caught by a woman on the other side of the bar. Her back is to you and she seems occupied with whoever is in front of her. As you sip the drink you just ordered you let your eyes wander and appreciate the fine form that is the stranger in your eye line.

The stranger is in a pair of form-fitting trousers that could be tailor made by the way they hug her in all the right places. Your eyes linger on the curve of her ass and thank all of the deities for the female form. You'd be envious if you weren't so confident yours was as praise-worthy. The white shirt she wears is more like a blouse in its material; you wonder how far it's buttoned up on the front. And forever the fashionista you clock the red bottoms and you nod in approval. Not bad. Not bad at all.

You sigh dreamily and then annoyance. Where the fuck was your da-

You choke on your drink as you see the very familiar face of your dad lean around the fine ass stranger you'd been admiring. As you splutter she turns and you feel yourself burn red hot, both in embarrassment and for the thrill the curious gaze of Quinn ignites.

It's your dad who starts towards you first. You turn and cough into your fist to compose yourself. Quinn isn't far behind and when they come to stand in front of you, you can finally see how Quinn, formerly known as the stranger, wears her shirt. A tasteful few buttons are left open, her hands are in her pockets and you're starting to regret not breaking your legs because this was more dangerous than falling down the stairs.

"How are you, my sweet?" Your dad asks as he leans in and pecks you on the cheek.

"Not bad," you hoarsely respond, your throat still a little irritated from choking.

"Hello, Santana," Quinn greets next and when she leans in she takes your hand in hers and it immediately shoots sparks up your arm. You're pretty sure all of this is in your head, but the twitch of Quinn's mouth you see before she plants a soft kiss on your cheek tells you she might've felt it too. Or she at least knows the effect she has on you. Which, after a second of consideration, is as bad as it is exciting.

"Hello, Quinn," you mimic as you lean back, her hand still held in yours. Her grip doesn't loosen and neither does yours.

You don't think you've looked back at your dad since Quinn addressed you and you're conscious to not be so obviously taken by her, but it's hard. Oh god, it's so hard. You take a steadying breath and you feel the barest squeeze from her before she lets you go.

"The show should be starting anytime soon now," she smiles at your dad and links with him as he pulls the tickets out of his pocket, "let's get some drinks and head up."

"Of course, dear." Ugh, that nickname again.

The pair lead the way once you've gotten your drinks and you follow, mindful to not look at Quinn's ass now that y'know, know it's _Quinn's_ ass. However, you are a mere mortal and do find yourself sneaking a quick look, you think you're slick for it and think nobody will possibly notice.

Oh, how you never learn.

As your eyes rise, you're met with Quinn looking back over her shoulder at you, assumedly checking you were still behind them.

Attempting nonchalance, you shrug and she simply ignores it, turning her head back around with little fuss.

You shake your head at yourself and fix your eyes forward to avoid getting caught again.

Despite your many trips to the theatre, you've never been seated in a box before. You were not sure what to expect, so when you saw it was quite spacious and secluded you could appreciate that Quinn must've put in some work to get the tickets.

There are three seats that overlook the stage and a nice little table to rest your glasses. Your dad takes the seat on the far left, closest to the barrier and table, whilst Quinn takes middle and you take the end, nearest the exit if you have to make a quick escape.

Listen, you're not one for dipping most of the time, but aisle seats are a necessity in this world.

You take a second to really think about your reasoning and wonder if you're really buzzed off of what? Two drinks.

You take another sip.

Maybe so.

You relax into the warm buzz you have, it eases the anxiety from earlier and you don't feel like your heart is going to abort by sitting in close proximity with Quinn. Your arms are touching and you're not even sweating. That's quite the feat.

Quinn crosses her right leg over her left and bounces it, drawing your attention. So does the hand on the arm of her chair that might as well be shared with how close your seats are. She's rhythmically drumming her fingers there to a beat you can't hear and the longer you stare the more ideas pop into your head - the fun, very wrong, type of ideas.

With your bottom lip trapped between your teeth you unconsciously copy Quinn's legs, although you doubt your reason for crossing your legs is the same as hers.

The action seems to catch Quinn's attention because the drumming stops and you turn to look at her to find her looking back.

"Hm?" You ask, already having released you lip to purse them.

"You okay?" She responds, the dimming of the lights making the remaining light bounce off of her eyes and make them glossy and all the more enticing.

"Yeah, fine. Great, even."

"Great, huh?" She murmurs back, your conversation mindful of the other audience members and most of all, your dad.

Determined to not be teased you flip it back on Quinn, "Heard you insisted I came. That right?"

She looks surprised for a moment and shoots a quick look to your dad who is occupied with his phone, when she looks you back in the eye you see the amusement there, "Maybe."

"Maybe? You're not sure if you _insisted_?"

"Maybe I did. What about it?" She drawls, her tone lower whilst her voice quieter.

Flustered you glance away, scoffing a "You're so weird," that makes the other woman laugh softly.

"Weird? What are you? Five?" She nudges you and you return you attention to her and are surprised by the playfulness in her eyes.

"Weird is a very valid adjective, thank you very much."

"I suppose."

You huff again, and you can practically see her eyes roll back into her brain. "Are you certain about anything?"

"Might be." She squints at you and you try to glare at her to show you're not impressed by her answer but her unflinching attention on you makes you squirm. She nudges you again when you look away and you let out a small laugh at how irritating she is.

The start of the show bell sounds and you hear the small din of the people below you slowly taper as people stop talking among themselves, yourself and Quinn follow suit and both of you face forward. You glance down to see Quinn's arm still on the rest and just to spite her you put your arm there too, forcing her to make room for you. You hear her click her tongue and it makes you smile in triumph.

You find your attention wavering through the first half of the show, not because it's bad, but because Quinn every now and then taps you with her pinkie. You aren't sure if she is doing it on purpose or not so you try to ignore it.

Until you don't.

You put your hand on top of hers to stop her fidgeting; you don't dare to look in her direction, scared of what you might be on the receiving end of.

For a second you think it's enough to stop her, but then she flicks her hand up to knock yours off. Out of the corner of your eyes you see her shaking with held in laughter.

After that you decide to just sit with your arms crossed and soon enough intermissions is up and so is your dad.

"Okay, ladies. What are we having?"

"I'll have the same." You say, your eyes adjusting to the lights being brought back on.

"I'll have a double vodka soda, please." Quinn preens.

"Of course, of course." He leans down and pecks Quinn on the cheek.

When he's out of sight and earshot Quinn turns to you, "Have I upset you?"

You furrow your brow at her mocking tone and tighten your crossed arms. "What? Don't be stupid."

"I was messing with you."

"You're always messing with me," you grumble, quiet enough to almost be misheard. Unfortunately, Quinn has excellent hearing.

"Hey," her sudden seriousness has you looking at her, she gives a sheepish smile, it's the first time you've ever seen the expression on the other woman. "Sorry."

"It's whatever." You utter as you hold eye contact. Your heart drops when her eyes drop to your lips.

"Okay," she says, her eyes flicking back up to yours, a coy smile on her own.

As you sit in silence you uncross you arms and put your left arm back next to Quinn's.

Boldly, you put your hand on top of hers to see her reaction, she lifts her index finger in acknowledgement but you're betting you can get something better than that, something that could reap a little payback you think slyly as you pinch the skin on one of her knuckles.

"Ow," she guffaws and the burst of laughter makes you crack a smile and a laugh too when you see the face she pulls. "No fair."

"All is fair in love and war," you say with a mock sageness.

She gives you that same squint that she gave at the gallery and you bite back a smile.

When she moves to stand you're unsure as to what she's going to do so you just watch her and hope she tells you. As she does, she taps your arm, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Her fingers drag along your forearm as she leaves; a tingle is left in the wake of her touch.

Your eyes follow her as she walks and she must know you'd do so because she glances back just before turning the corner, a look on her face you can't quite place. You raise your eyebrows at her, the nonchalance you favoured earlier pushed to the wayside for something more of a challenge, and she tilts her head at you as though she's measuring you up. Will she bite, you wonder.

You're a little disappointed when she doesn't really do much else but carry on walking, leaving you to amuse yourself.

By the time she's returned you've also had the chance to stretch your legs and go to the bathroom yourself. You want to joke about what took her so long but you bite your tongue, instead you give her a "Hey," and a smile. A smile she returns as she sits next to you.

Just when you both settle and you think its safe you're thrown in at the deep end.

The lights have dimmed, the bell has gone for the end of intermission and the start of part two, you're dad is nowhere to be seen and you're suddenly aware you two are very alone.

Then, as though she'd read your mind, Quinn touches your thigh and you gasp, clenching your fists to stop yourself from moving suddenly.

You keep your eyes forward, unsure as to where she's going with it. Maybe she's going to pinch you back?

The way her fingers lightly trace a path not dissimilar to the path she traced from palm to wrist not three or so months ago suggest that's not the case.

You think your heart is about five second from bursting through your chest. But before it can get interesting your dad is shuffling in and handing you your drinks, Quinn's hand expertly returning to her side of the armrest, her charming smile disarming and unassuming.

You take a gulp of your drink in hopes it'll cool you down.

Five minutes bleed into ten and you're left wondering if that's it. Is it going to be another unspeakable thing that happens between you?

Her arm is no longer on her armrest so you take it for yourself. You hate to admit it to yourself but the way you lay your arm palm up is a blatant attempt to bait Quinn into taking your hand. Daring her to take it.

You forget what you were even doing it for when you feel the soft tips of Quinn's finger snaking their way across your forearm before meeting the tips of your own fingers. Before she moves you shift your hand slightly and link them. You pause before you commit to what you're about to do next, the internal conflict over the immorality of the act eating you up but urging you on anyway.

Slowly and as discretely as you can, you pull her hand over the armrest to your side of the seat and hope she gets the message when you release her hand so that it rests on your thigh. Again, as inconspicuously as you can, you put your own hand back on the rest between you to cover where Quinn's hides.

You caution a look in her direction and see her teeth digging into her bottom lip, her chest rising and falling in an exaggerated way. Your heart thuds knowing she has to be as turned on as you are.

Facing back toward the stage you pray to god, no, you pray to all the gods that your dad has fallen asleep or some shit like that.

Maybe you should start going back to church after this.

Quinn's fingers splaying and firmly grasping your thigh reign your thoughts back into the burning sensation pooling inside of you. She squeezes then moves, running slowly along the soft skin of your upper thigh; her fingers lightly skim the skin exposed just below your hemline, teasing at the material before retreating. You think she might stop until she surprises you by boldly sliding her fingers further down. You part your legs ever so slightly in response, you're not even aware you're doing it until you feel her fingers so close to where you want her. You push forward on your chair, almost willing your dress to ride up so she has more room to work with.

You take a deep breath and try to focus on the performance in front of you, but you can't help flicking your eyes to the side to try and catch Quinn's again. She's not looking at you but you see that her bottom lip is swollen from where her teeth must've worked it.

What were you doing? This was your dad's fiancée.

You tighten your thighs around her hand as though that would help, but it only drives her hand closer, so much so you feel the barest touch of her pinkie finger against you. You quickly open your legs back up and grab her hand, willing yourself to stop as much as her, because you know how easily you want to give in to this.

Carefully, you put her hand back between you and you tuck your own hands under you.

Closing your eyes you try to control your breathing and racing heart. What were you thinking?

When the show comes to a close and the lights turn back up she stands up next to you and as she looks down to meet your eyes she has that sly smirk on her face that's been driving you crazy since the last time you saw each other.

She gestures to you that she's letting you go first and you almost don't trust yourself to stand. But you do and you hasten your step to leave.

"I'm just heading to the bathroom, I'll meet you guys out front," You say over your shoulder.

"We'll be waiting," Quinn says and those three words shouldn't have any effect on you, but fuck. As you've already established. This fucking bitch.

What that exactly means seems to change every time you see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, they are really encouraging and I appreciate them a great deal. I have an idea of where I'm going with this, but I pretty much just make it up as I go along (such is life lol) so I do take your ideas into consideration. Fanx, bbz. Hopefully see you again soon! :)


	4. Dutch Courage

Your back hits the closed stall door behind you and you take a few more calming breaths. The night's still young and you know it's going to be just the two of you at some point and you're worried you'll do something you end up regretting.

No. You'll go for drink, but you'll keep your distance. Yeah, your distance. Some place with a booth. You shake your head to yourself, no, too private. Maybe by the bar on stools. Again, you shake off the idea, way too close.

The sound you make is one of frustration, you're over thinking this. You're a big girl, everything is under control. Nothing will happen.

You freshen up and head back to the theatre's foyer, you can see your dad and Quinn through the glass doors of the entrance and you steel yourself.

No more gazing, no more glancing touches, no more joking around.

You'll go, you'll be cordial and you'll keep her company. Like your dad asked of you.

Easy.

They haven't noticed your approach and you observe how Quinn's eyes follow the traffic of people leaving as your dad talks on the phone, they're obviously standing together but they're not exactly cosy.

Pushing the door open it's Quinn who spots you first, she doesn't say anything but she goes to wave but doesn't quite commit to it so it's kind of awkward. The look on her face tells you she didn't mean to do that and you swear you see her cheeks tinge pink as she tucks her hand back into her pockets. You hate that you find it cute. This was the same woman who'd worked you up so effortlessly and now she was fumbling over a wave. How were you meant to act all detached now she was being all cute and shit? Fuck.

When your dad spots you he nods his head toward you and tells the person on the phone he'll see them soon. "San, I told Quinn about my plans and reassured her you'd be happy to spend some time with her whilst I'm gone. Is that good with you?" He asks, although you know he expects you to say yes regardless.

"Sure," you look to Quinn and hope you sound cool, calm and relaxed, "where to?"

"Well," she shrugs, "I was hoping you'd know where to go. I don't frequent the city all that often anymore."

"Brilliant, I'll leave you ladies to it then. I'll see you later," he pecks you on the cheek and then kisses Quinn. You conveniently find the pavement very interesting as he does.

"Bye," you both say as you watch him hop into a car.

Neither of you say anything as you watch him and you don't look at each other even after the car is long gone.

"So-"

"I-"

You both start to talk at the same time, it's only then you actually meet each other's eyes and laugh lightly.

She gestures for you to go first and you do, you want to pat yourself on the back for your sheer brilliance, "I know a place, I go there a lot actually. Though I'm not sure it's your kind of crowd."

"I'm sure I'll live wherever we go."

"Wow, you've put a lot of faith in me. I don't know, Quinn. Are you sure about this?" You tease.

Not five fucking minutes, you think to yourself. You couldn't last five minutes before doing the exact opposite of what you set out to do.

Quinn pretends to think about it, and then with an almost startling assuredness says, "Oh, I'm sure."

The layered meaning of the words is not lost on you and you fumble for a cigarette to distract yourself.

"Do you mind walking for a bit?" You ask.

"No, I don't mind," her voice like butter, even when she continues to say, "they'll kill you, you know."

"Not if you kill me first," you mumble under your breath with your cigarette hanging between your lips.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

As you walk, neither of you speak much. The clicking of your heels fall at the same time, your strides having matched a block back. You're wondering if you can be bothered to walk all the way to the bar in heels and you glance at Quinn out of the corner of your eye to get a read on what she might be thinking. When you see her wince you stop and put a hand out to stop her too.

"Let's get a taxi, my feet are killing me."

She laughs and admits the same. As you wait, you take another drag, mindful to not blow any smoke in her direction. You soon stub it out when even that starts to wane on your nerves that have steadily been eating at you the further you've walked together without even acknowledging what's going on between you two.

"So, Quinn," you start, "tell me about yourself."

At this she laughs so that her teeth show and you find yourself laughing self-consciously.

"What?" You ask.

"Nothing, it's just," she pauses and looks at you, "you make me laugh."

"Thanks?" You're not too sure that's a compliment.

"Don't you think it's funny that," she stops again and then shakes her head, "never mind."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Tell me about yourself."

"You're serious?"

"Duh," you were right earlier. Quinn is weird. Or she's purposely annoying.

"Okay, my name's Quinn Fabray."

"Nice. Nice," you nod as though she's being interviewed.

"I'm twenty-nine years old," you hum, "I'm an investment banker," she continues, "stop pulling that face."

"What face?"

"That one."

"I'm not pulling one," were you pulling one? That was meant to be an internal grimace. "Please, continue."

"I have twelve kids."

"Shut the fuck up." You laugh.

"What? I do." You glare at her and she keeps a straight face, but you can just tell she's having you on by the slight crease of her eyes.

"Fuck off."

"You wanted to know me." She says, her deadpan falling through as she laughs too.

"I'm never being nice to you again."

"That was you being nice?"

The taxi pulls up and with a, "Thank fuck for that," you climb in with Quinn closely following.

When you pull up outside of the bar Quinn stops you from paying the driver and instead pays him herself. Whatever keeps her happy, you guess.

Climbing down familiar steps you scan the bar for a face you know all too well.

You see a flash of blonde and you sigh in relief.

Brittany will keep you in check.

"Who are you looking for?" Quinn says right by your ear to cut through the noise of the bar.

"A friend. She works behind the bar. Do you want to find a table? I'll get us something to drink. Double vodka soda, right?"

"Right. And yeah, okay."

Leaving Quinn to search out a seat you expertly slip through the crowd of people and perch yourself on Brittany's side of the bar.

You watch her and she flawlessly works the pumps and chats with the patrons, her footwork light and her smile bright.

"Britt!" You call and you see her look in your general direction to look for the person calling her name. "Britt, hey!"

When she sees you her smile somehow brightens even more so and you watch her quickly finish pouring the drink in her hand and serve the guy opposite her before she rushes over to you and hugs you across the bar.

"San! What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the theatre? It wasn't that bad was it? Did you leave?" Her questions come flying at you too fast to answer.

"It was fine, I've actually brought Quinn here with me. My dad went to meet some friends."

Brittany's eyes light up and her eyebrows lift, "She's here? Where?" Standing on her tip-toes she tries to peer over the many heads populating the establishment.

You also turn to look over your shoulder to spy Quinn out.

"Oh, I think I see her."

It's your turn to ask, "Where?" Because you cannot see her at all.

From behind you, Brittany holds your head and turns it in the complete opposite direction you were looking, "There, silly."

"Oh," you say a little breathlessly as you see Quinn sat with her head resting in her hand under the soft glow of the bar's dim lighting. She's so effortlessly beautiful it takes you by surprise.

"Brittany!" A man further down the bar shouts.

"Oh shit, I gotta get back to work," she lets you go and you turn back to face her. "What'd you like, pretty lady?"

"Usual for me and a double vodka soda, pretty please." You bat your eyelashes for good measure.

"Coming right up," she grins and skips down the bar, shooting a quick "sorry" to who you assume is her boss. You vaguely remember him yelling at you to get out of the back room that one time you and Brittany had stayed after lockup and you'd accidentally dropped a bucket of ice behind the bar. Fun times.

Brittany's quick and serves you with a wink and a, "Behave," which you pretend to take offence at.

Making your way over to your table you notice a body blocking your way as he attempts to flirt with Quinn, you roll your eyes when you hear how sorry that attempt is.

"Move it, asshole."

He casts an annoyed glance at you and you shrug at him and jerk your head to motion him to fuck off and bother somebody else.

"Bitch," he grumbles on his way past and you roll you eyes once more.

"Yeah, thought so." You say as you put your glasses down on the table and sit down. "Not bothering you was he?"

"Why? Are you going to put him straight if he was?" She asks as she takes a sip from her drink.

You look back over in the direction he went and although you can't see him you nod, "Totally. He wouldn't stand a chance."

She's smiling at you when you meet her eyes again and you match it, taking a sip of your own.

You continue to drink and make casual conversation, you're quite proud of how normal it all is. It's almost like getting a drink with your friends and funnily enough, Quinn isn't so bad when she's talking about the mundane.

You learn she has an older sister, that she went to Yale and that she got a tattoo when she was eighteen. When you ask her to show you she gives you a smile and takes a drink instead. In a sharing mood, you also decide to let her get to know you too. You tell that you went to Columbia, have no tattoos and have no siblings that you know of - to which you raise your eyebrows and made her laugh once more.

You recall her laughing at you when you asked about her earlier and now you've had a few to drink and your inhibitions have lessened you decide to push her on it.

"Earlier, when I asked about you, you laughed at me. I didn't really get it, I mean weren't you the one to you know, go all," you flap your hands about, "rah, about me not knowing you at the art gallery."

She taps her fingers on the table and her eyes don't lift from watching them. "You're right. I did go all," you see her mouth quirk upward, "'rah' as you so eloquently put it. I guess I," she looks up to meet your eyes and you feel a shift in the air around you, "found it funny because not even, I don't know, thirty minutes prior, I had my hand between your legs."

The bluntness of the statement shocks you momentarily. You're struck utterly dumb by it, in all honestly. You thought it'd never be mentioned again. But then again, you suppose the gallery was a no-go too and you had no reservations to pick at that scab again.

"You look surprised."

"I- I am."

"Santana," she says and you love the way your name sounds on her lips. Her voice is so low that you find yourself leaning in to hear her, "If I were to ask you if you wanted to come back to my room tonight what would you say?"

It feels as though your heart has stopped. It's stopped and you've died. Whether this is heaven or hell you're not too sure.

You lick your lips and you watch as her eyes follow your tongue, "You'd have to ask me first to know the answer to that."

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips and it's so damn alluring you just want her to spit it out already.

"Santana," again with the name, and even better, this time she drags a finger over the back of your hand, "would you like to spend the night with me?"

"Yes," your answer falls past your lips in a soft hush.

"Okay," her smirk relaxes into a smile and when she stands up and holds her hand out for you, you don't hesitate to take it.

You're at the bottom of the stairs when you remember, "Wait."

"If you don't wan-" Quinn starts but you interrupt her.

"No, it's not that. I just want to say bye to my friend."

You rush over to Brittany, your heart pounding and mind addled.

"Britt," you call into the back room, knowing she'd gone on break not too long ago.

"Yeah, San," her head pokes around the corner.

Should you tell her what you're doing? Will she talk you out of it? Do you want to be talked out of it?

"You okay?" She asks, concerned.

"Yeah," you plaster on a smile, "we're heading out. I just wanted to say bye and that I'll text you tomorrow."

"Okay, San. C'mere," she opens her arms for a hug, "don't be a stranger."

"I could never."

She gives you one last squeeze, "It was a nice surprise to see you, have a good night."

Does she know? She can't know can she? Are you paranoid?

"Yeah, will do. Love you, bye."

"Love you too, see ya." You hear her call back as she walks back into the back room.

With that you return to Quinn and try your best to go with the flow of things. You let her take the lead and it's only when you're inside the lobby of a very fancy hotel that it starts to sink in that this is happening.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asks from beside you, you think you hear the smallest hint of nerves in her voice and that alone puts your own at ease.

"I will if you will."

"I'll take that deal."

You're wondering if this is the sort of hotel bar people find escorts to spend the night with, there are way too many pretty faces in this place to be the standard clientele. Or maybe you're trying to find a reason other than the obvious one to be against this.

Before you settle on the stool you reach out for Quinn's wrist, "Actually, could we just go up to your room?"

She regards you for a second then nods, you drop her wrist but she takes your hand. Your breath hitches as the cool softness of her skin grounds you whilst simultaneously knocking you off of your feet.

In the elevator she clicks the button for the top floor and you lean heavily against the back panel of the elevator as you watch the floor numbers tick by, your linked hands hanging between you.

About halfway through your ride up, Quinn squeezes your hand and that hint of nervousness you heard in her voice earlier manifests on her features.

"San, I-"

As though the shortening of your name coming from her kissable lips was the release from all the doubt that was holding you back, you push yourself off the wall and step up to Quinn so you're facing her. You press a finger to her mouth and the rest of her words die on her lips. Her breath comes hot and quick against your finger and you take a moment to watch as her eyelashes flutter.

"Don't worry about it." You drop your hand but don't move from where you stand.

The drinks from earlier still pump around your body and you feel your usual unbridled confidence rear its head.

"Okay," she whispers.

"Okay," you repeat, stepping closer, urging her to make a move.

She lifts her right hand and her eyes fall to your mouth, her thumb runs across your bottom lip and you take it into your mouth.

You see her bite down, hard, on her own bottom lip and see her eyes widen and eyebrow twitch.

God, she is so fucking hot.

You run your tongue over her thumb and watch the way she continues to react, her laboured breathing, her reddening cheeks. With a soft 'pop' you release it and push her hand away to take her face in your own. You bring her within kissing distance, your lips ghosting each others.

"You were kidding about those twelve kids, right?"

The short release of breath you assume would have been a laugh if she wasn't so caught up that passes over your lips makes your face break into a huge smile.

"Shut up," Quinn barely gets out before pressing her mouth to yours.

The whimper you let slip is involuntary, but Quinn isn't complaining, in fact it seems to encourage her. The initial softness of the kisses begins to get a little rougher and wetter as they become open-mouthed and needy. You're pretty sure by the time the elevator dings it's not just your whimpers that have been filling the small space.

Breaking apart you begin to pull her through the doors, but you soon realise you have no idea which room is hers.

"This way," she husks as you feel yourself being led to the left.

You watch as Quinn slips the keycard out of her pocket and onto the floor, "Fuck," you hear her whisper under her breath.

You beat her to it in picking it up, though just as you're about to stand she's already leaning down to reach it, your hands meet and you both pause.

You're worried time will never move again as you both right yourselves and watch each other. Her normally hazel eyes are darker and half-lidded. You don't even notice she's reaching forward until you feel her take the card from your hands.

The beep of the door unlocking and Quinn turning to pass over the threshold sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Quinn doesn't wait for you, she walks further into the huge, open space that is her suite and kicks off her shoes. You soon follow and with a click the door closes behind you.

She's leaning against the back of a couch when you reach her and you take the opportunity to revel in the fact you're now taller than her, a smirk tugs at your mouth and you find a sway comes to you step.

"Quinn, you're spoiling me," you say as you approach.

"How so?" Your smirk widens hearing some of her usual confidence return.

You come to a stop between her legs and tell her to, "Stand up." The satisfaction you feel when she actually does is almost too ridiculous to put into words.

You're so close you're almost one person, you can feel the rise and fall of her chest against you and are pleasantly surprised by the weight of her hands on your waist. You stroke your fingers around the back of her neck and begin to close the remaining distance between you.

Your brow furrows when you feel, rather than see, the resistance. Quinn pulls her head back and asks, "Is it because you're taller than me for once?"

"Don't ruin this for me," you tell her and you capture her mouth with yours. This time she doesn't pull back.

The upper hand you have doesn't last long as you feel her slide her hands down and around your thighs, effectively picking you up and defeating the purpose of your heels. You wrap your arms around her neck and let her take your weight and pull you even closer together. Your dress has rolled up around your ass by this point and you moan when she slides one of her hands up to grab it.

Your kisses are heated and overwhelm you in every way, you're not even aware she's moved you to the bedroom until she's dropping you backwards and you no longer feel her lips on yours.

The cool sheets beneath you are a welcome reprieve from the fire building within you. You lay back on your elbows, dress up by your waist, exposed. Your panting breaths slow as you watch Quinn slowly begin to unbutton her shirt, her face obscured by the darkness of the room and her head being dipped down, but her body is lit well enough by the city lights that pour through the window that substitutes a wall. The more she reveals the quicker you want her to go. You're feeling impatient. You want her. And you want her now.

She lets her shirt drop from her shoulders and hit the floor, you swallow and find yourself opening your legs to further accommodate as she quickly kicks off her trousers leaving her in barely anything at all.

The curve of her thighs, the smooth expanse of her stomach, the peak of her breasts just over her bra, the line of her collarbone, the soft, open mouth and the look. The look she's giving you could so easily undo as quickly as any touch could.

The mattress bends under her weight as she kneels at the foot of the bed, her eyes trailing up your legs, eyebrows scrunching at the realisation you're very overdressed. Crawling towards you, she takes the bottom of the offending garment to pull it up and over your head. But before she does you can't resist taking her mouth with yours.

She gives in to you and is distracted from her actions, her grip on your dress tightening as your kiss deepens. You want to feel her skin on yours so you pull back slightly, her mouth follows yours before she comes back to herself and looks at you expectantly.

"Take it off," you plead, and like that. It's off.

Your matching set quickly follows and you're eager to reciprocate so you can finally feel her naked against you. She beats you too it though and you see her toss her own bra across the room. When it hits a vase and causes it to teeter she goes to pull away but you're not going to let the happen so you tuck a finger around the hem of her lace panties and tug her back your way, smashed vase be damned.

"But," she protests and you hush her the best way you know how.

You lay hot and wet kisses along her neck, paying close attention to the way she melts into you, where her body touches yours, the spots that make her gasp the most. You're still on your ass whilst she's still on her knees, but she levels the playing field by pushing you back and bringing your faces level with her thigh pressed against you.

You instantly buck upward into the contact and revel in the feeling of her tongue running from your neck to jaw, mouths meeting once more in a fierce kiss. You feel her begin to rock into you and you position your own thigh to benefit you both. The small moan she whimpers into your mouth has you pushing for more, the next sound to fall from her lips is more guttural and the rawness of the sound has you burning hotter.

The way you move together is primal, your bodies begging each others to work faster, harder. The sweat that builds between you makes the touching of your skin that much more sticky and wet. But nothing would compare to the wetness between your legs. You don't think you've ever been so turned on in your life and she hasn't even put her fingers inside of you.

So when she does you push your head back and arch your back, eager to feel as much as you can.

Your head swims with the sensation of her slender fingers slipping through, and then into, you.

"Quinn," you gasp and claw at her back, her breathing coming hard against your ear.

"Is that-" she begins but never finishes, her own moans interrupting her as you palm her breast .

As you writhe she plants kisses along your chest, causing you to loosen your hold on her to run your hands through her hair. Her fingers slow their pace and you could cry for the loss of pressure when she drags her fingers out of you. When she uses all the slickness gathered between your legs to move those fingers oh so deliciously higher you might just cry anyway for a whole other reason.

"Oh my god," you whimper, your toes curling with pleasure and anticipation.

Your thighs begin to shake when she finally touches your clit. You'd be embarrassed if you had the sense to care at this point. Alas, you don't. So they continue to do so as she builds you up to knock you back down in the best way possible.

"Look at me," you think you hear her say. You're not sure for all the blood rushing in your ears. "San," you pry you eyes open and are met with hazel. Her pouty lips so close to yours. She closes the distance and kisses you.

The stirring inside of you intensifies and you know you won't last much longer. Your kiss breaks as you catch your breath and before you can do so you're, "Oh fuck." Coming.

Her fingers continue and your quivering thighs clench together, trapping her hand. The ringing in your ears and light behind your eyes leave you temporarily unable to think one coherent thought.

She plants soft kisses across your forehead, cheeks and neck as she waits for you to recover. The gentleness with how she handles you makes your heart beat faster and you feel another kind of stirring inside of you.

When you let your legs fall open she lies beside you and runs her fingers up and down your ribcage. You keep your eyes closed for a second and try to maintain your breathing to catch your breath, but also to stop yourself from laughing.

You can't help that you're ticklish, okay.

"What's the smile for?" You hear her murmur, her own smile evident in the way she asks the question.

You shake your head and bite your lip.

You're feeling soft and squishy, utterly giddy - which is a rare occurance. But you'll stick with ticklish being the main reason for the flushed cheeks and aching smile.

"C'mon," she continues her path up and down your ribs, "what is it?"

You squint an eye open and look at her, admiring the way the light from outside creates shadows across her body. She notices and kisses you once more. The heat from a few minutes ago returns with a renewed vigour. You're desperate to give to her what she gave to you.

You push yourself up and push her back so that you can straddle her waist. Your mouths never separating for long as you revel in the softness of her lips.

In an attempt to regain some control you draw the kisses out, teasing and languid, no matter how tempting it is to give in to Quinn's attempts to hijack the pace. When she tries to sit up and assert herself once more you push her back down again, taking her wrists in your hands you pin them above her head.

"Now, now, Miss Fabray," you rock down into her and the moan you hear is music to your ears. Only, there's one thing bothering you.

You slide back so you're straddling her thighs and you release her wrists, warning, "Don't move," as you hook your thumbs under the material of Quinn's panties on either hip. "This doesn't seem fair to me," you whisper, "does it seem fair to you?" You ask with a snap as you pull the material up and let it go.

Quinn's hips lift and she shakes her head.

You make quick work of ridding Quinn of the final barrier between you both and spread her thighs.

Pushing up against her so that her feet lift from the bed, you lean down and kiss her, your hands supporting her thighs so they don't tire from being held up. You find your mind imagining the possibilities as your feel how wet she is against you. All the things you would do to her. It's driving you crazy and your kisses become more frantic.

"Santana," she pleads, "please."

Leaning back you let her legs fall back to the bed and your eyes meet, a still moment is shared between you as you watch her chest rise and fall. Her mouth hanging open and skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. Her look is intense and you wonder how you must look in her eyes, because to you, she is goddamn breathtaking.

You begin your descent of her body, peppering kisses from jaw to navel. You take your time, despite the burning desire that rages inside of you. You could be gentle too.

The heat you feel coming from between her legs distracts you from the fact she has moved her hands from above her head to tangling into your hair, urging you closer.

Not that you need the encouragement.

Dipping your head, you run your tongue through her, eliciting the best moan from her yet. The taste, the feel, the smell. All of it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your chin is slick and sticky as you continue to lap her up. Her deep, drawn out moans make you dizzy. She's intoxicating in every way.

The tightening of her hold on you only drives you further, the pain mixed with the pleasure has you moaning into her. The vibration has her thighs pillowing either side of your head and as your wrap your lips around her clit you look up.

The aroused, half-lidded, open-mouthed expression adorning Quinn's face sends a new wave of warmth over you.

You tease her clit until she's writhing and pulling at your hair, you're tempted to withhold for even longer, but the whimpering and begging that falls from her lips push you to submit and to give her what she wants.

Taking your left hand, you slip two fingers into her as you continue, you feel her clenching around you and you resist the urge to slip your right hand down to finish yourself off as well.

Satisfied you'd tortured her long enough, you pump your fingers faster and at a better angle, switching your licking to sucking, running your tongue over her clit as you do to bring her to the edge even quicker.

As predicted, Quinn's pants and moans come shorter and quicker, her grip on your hair releases as she grips the sheets beside her instead.

"Oh, San," she gasps, "don't you dare fucking stop, I swear to god." A small part of you wants to do just that to see her reaction, but you can't bring yourself to be so cruel. "Oh fuck."

Your right hand wraps around her thigh to stop her from crushing your head as you relentlessly push her higher and higher.

When she comes you're glad you thought to protect your head because her thighs slam together and you almost bite your tongue. Now that'd be messy.

She goes limp soon afterward and you roll out of the way, your own chest heaving as you revel in the glow of getting Quinn off.

You feel the soft tap of her fingers on your head and you tip your head back to look at her, she's got a just as soft look on her face and you roll back around to crawl up to her.

Your mouth and fingers are still wet when you reach her and she must be able to tell, because she pulls you in and does the hottest thing you could have imagined. She licks under your lip, tasting herself on you and kisses you to share herself once more. You groan into the kiss, your tongues slipping over one another's, the ache between your legs more obvious to you than ever.

When your kiss breaks with a wet pop you're feeling a little delirious. You feel even more so when she takes your left hand and runs her tongue over your index and middle finger, taking them into her mouth when she reaches their tips.

You can't take your eyes off of her and she knows it.

The push and pull of your love making lasts much of the night and it doesn't even occur to you that the room you're in has nothing of your dad's in until the morning. In fact, Quinn's phone doesn't make a sound all night. Although, you doubt you would have heard it.

The sunrise is what wakes you, your muscles are sore and you feel the warmth and weight of Quinn's body on top of you. You play with the end of her hair as you relive last night. You can ignore reality for a little longer.

It's not long before Quinn stirs, at first she tucks herself closer, mumbling something about a parking ticket and then she cracks an eye and pushes herself up onto an elbow.

You continue to look up at the ceiling, on your periphery you see her looking down at you. You're scared to meet her eyes, afraid of what you might see there.

Will she be ashamed? Angry? Embarrassed?

"Santana," she says, her voice laced with sleep, "please look at me."

You do.

The openness and softness of her expression has your eyes burning and a lump forming in your throat.

All the emotions you were scared she'd be unloading on you are actually the ones you're feeling yourself. And you're not angry at her, no, you're angry with yourself.

Your blinks come faster and harder as you try to push the rising surge of emotion you're feeling.

"Hey," she says and caresses the side of your face.

You swallow.

"Let's get breakfast and talk."

You nod.

She orders for you and now you're sitting at the kitchen island in one of the hotel robes eating breakfast with her.

"I need to make something clear," she begins and you stop mid-chew as you look at her. Her expression unreadable, making your heart drop. "This won't happen again."

"Of course," you agree. Because how could you not? You're not going to have an affair with your dad's fiancée. That would be beyond the pale.

"It can't, San," Quinn urges and you don't know who she's trying to convince. Either way, the words hurt and you can't explain why.

"I know, I know," you tersely reply.

A few moments later you push your plate away, claiming you're not hungry anymore. She doesn't say anything and leaves you to get changed and collect your things.

Your goodbye is stilted. Neither of you behaving like yourselves, neither of you knowing what to do.

"Erm, I'm going to go." You motion with your thumb towards the door and she nods.

When she stands and approaches you, you think she might hug you and you're pretty sure she is going to but she stops herself at the last second.

"Okay," she says coolly, her eyes betraying the indifference of her tone, "get home safe, okay. And have a nice day."

"You too," and with that you scuttle out of her room like the insect piece of shit you are, your head down and mind torturously stuck on how perfect the night before had been.

As you wait outside for your ride you pull out a cigarette and light it, but before it reaches your lips you stub it out and throw it in the trash.

Rubbing your eyes you groan to yourself in frustration before deciding to pull yourself together. You're a grown woman, dammit.

Gathering yourself you consider how this little rendezvous ended. You got a morally bankrupt lay and will likely be able to avoid any repercussions because she doesn't live here. Before the day is out she'll be gone, your dad with her. For how long you're never sure, but you hope it's long enough for you to get on with your life.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Should be easy, right?

You laugh bitterly at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thank you for your comments! They're greatly appreciated and make my day. This chapter kind of ran away with me, but I'm not sorry. Also, the name of my next chapter made me laugh. It's very on the nose and kinda silly, but hopefully you find it at least a bit funny too. Til next time, buh-bye.


	5. A Friend In Me

It has been a week. A week since that night and you're still plagued by the memories of it.

It has been a rare slow day at work and you've got nothing else to think about so you think about Quinn, on her hands and knees in front of you. How it felt to be pressed along her back, the low chuckle she let slip when your lips skimmed close to her ear to whisper, "Nice tattoo."

You'd only gotten glimpses throughout the night, but in that position you saw the full bloom of the flower near the small of her back. You'd tickled your fingers across it and had her turning onto her back so your faces were mere inches apart.

"It's a violet," she'd informed you, "my best friend from college has a matching one."

You'd raised an eyebrow at that and settled further into her, tucking your head under her chin, your fingers slowly caressing her side.

"That's kinda gay, Quinn," you'd said light-heartedly.

Quinn had stayed quiet for a moment and then surprised you by saying, "I'm not gay."

"Well bi-"

"I'm not into women."

At that your hand had stilled, unsure of what to make of her words. Should you have asked her to clarify? Would that have spoiled the moment?

Your silence must have urged her into action because it was not long before it was you on your back with her mouth on yours, any lingering thoughts of what she could have meant by that washed away by the wave of desire crashing over you once more.

Having had a week to think over every moment you have found yourself tripping over this one.

Maybe she meant she was only into you? Surely not. Though you wouldn't blame her and it would certainly be an ego boost.

The sudden realisation that Quinn might be in denial floods you with memories of your own experience with the feeling. You're overcome with empathy for her and are glad you didn't come to the realisation whilst in bed together. You're almost certain that she would have taken it as pity and any words you may have had for her would have been received as condescending – though that would never have been your intention.

Your phone buzzes and you're grateful for the distraction from the impending headache you are sure to endure if you continue to think about Quinn any longer.

_B: Hey b! Out later? Xx_

A smile instantly comes to your lips as you read the text from Brittany.

_Ughhh god yes. I am so bored, pls send help :(((_

_B: it's nearly 5, u can make it! I believe in you_

You check the clock and oh shit, she's right. You stand to go to the bathroom to waste some time fixing your mascara before you can finally escape.

You'll be so glad to start law school, you cannot deal with being the runt of the firm any longer.

_B: ohh, also! Come 2 mine, I'm not in work 2nite x_

_Okay, see u later x_

Later, you're standing outside of Brittany's complex and buzzing yourself in to get to her apartment.

You've yet to get ready, but Brittany told you to come as you are and to get ready at hers. When you see she's even more dressed down than you when she opens her door, you're a little confused. You'd have thought she'd gotten at least a bit of a head start, but no, she's in her pjs and it's not even completely dark out yet.

With a quick hug, you're led further into her apartment. The TV is on, there are snacks galore on her coffee table, and there are piles of blankets and pillows strewn across her sofa.

"Britt?"

"Yeah?" She smiles at you.

"What's going on?"

"I'm treating you to a night at Brittany's Home Theatre, it's got great reviews and I even know the owner so I've been able to book the place out so it's just you and me."

"Britt," you're touched, you really are, "but why?"

Brittany shrugs, "You've not been yourself lately and although partying is super awesome, so is spending time with your best friend. We can watch a movie, eat until we can't anymore and then if we're really hard pressed for things to talk about, you can tell me what's been going on."

Guilt gnaws at your gut, you've avoided telling Brittany the whole truth about what had happened, not because you think she'd let it slip, but rather you're feeling far too emotionally vulnerable about the whole thing to even think about opening up.

"Do you want to borrow some pjs?" She pulls you out of your pity party.

With a quick smile you nod and she slips into her bedroom, tossing you some shorts and a top when she reappears.

Since you're distracted they hit you in the face and you hear her laughing at you.

"I'm suing," you joke.

"Oh no, you're not going to take all my money are you?" Brittany plays along, making a sweeping gesture to her modest abode.

"I know you keep the millions hidden around here somewhere."

"You do? Could you show me, please?"

She's smirking when you slip past her to get dressed in her bedroom, you roll your eyes at her and hear her laugh again as she walks further into her living room.

About twenty minutes later, you're both settled on the sofa and you've since gotten changed. You watch as Brittany struggles with opening a packet of strawberry laces, and you smile despite her growing frustration.

"Here," you lean forward and open your hand toward her, she readily hands it over.

She scoffs as you open it with ease, "What the hell?" But there's amusement in her eyes.

"Magic fingers," you brag, suggestively bouncing your eyebrows up and down.

She scoffs again, but it's more of a laugh than anything.

You both sit back and carry on with the film, but you find your mind falling into the what ifs and buts of the Quinn situation.

A warm hand touching your calf has you refocusing your gaze on Brittany, she gives you a sad smile around a mouthful of candy.

"C'mon, what's up?"

You feel yourself tense then relax as Brittany soothingly rubs your leg. Shaking your head to yourself you return the smile and shift so that you're tucked up next to Brittany instead of sitting on the other end of the sofa.

"It's nothing. Really," Brittany's arms around squeeze you lightly and you feel her rest her chin on the top of your head, you wind you arms around her and close your eyes, "you're a really good friend, Britt."

"I know. I'm awesome."

You chuckle into her neck and gulp when you hear her breath hitch.

A sudden flash of heat runs through you and you damn your body for reacting this way. Then again, Brittany is really good to you, always treats you well, makes you laugh and is generally pretty great. Stunning too.

And best of all, she's not marrying your dad.

You take the leap and plant a tentative kiss on her neck, when she doesn't push away you continue to plant them there as you work up the courage to kiss her on the lips.

She takes the initiative before you, but before meeting your mouth with hers she asks with furrowed brows, "Are you sure?"

You nod and push forward, encouraging her to reciprocate, which she does.

With her left arm wrapped around your waist and her right running up and down your thigh, you allow your body to sink into hers. There being no rush, the kisses slow, languid and sweet (because of the strawberry laces she'd just eaten). Your mind trips over itself to catch up to where you are, to stay present.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it when her fingers sneak their way up to press against you.

You go through some extreme heavy petting and you're starting to wonder if she'll ever fuck you and if by magic, those long fingers of hers are sliding past the hem of the pyjama shorts you have on and into you.

Her ministrations make you dizzy and breathless, your kisses having broken in favour of panting. Your eyes are still closed from when you'd kissed and you focus on the feeling of her filling you up, of her achingly perfect pace, the burning hot warmth of her body, her blonde hair, and hazel eyes.

Wait a minute.

Your eyes snap open and you hold her still with your hand, "Wait."

Brittany does, her cheeks flushed and eyes on yours. Waiting, like you'd asked.

Blue eyes looking into brown.

You shake your head and cover your eyes. You miss the way she tilts her head at you, but you feel her remove her hand altogether. It makes you whimper and you let your hands fall away from your face.

"I'm sorry, Britt," you utter pathetically.

"Why are you sorry? You've done nothing wrong."

"God I wish that were true."

"Hey, no big. We're still best friends, I'm cool with whatever you're cool with and you're super hot so I was obviously down but you're not so obviously down so, so now," her cheeks start to burn a little brighter, "I'm going to stop talking."

"You're the best, Britt."

She purses her lips and gives a cheeky little, "I know," that makes you grin.

It's a few hours later when you're both in her bed and talking in the dark. She's telling you about a leg injury she sustained in high school that made her cry for a week straight because she had to give up dancing for a month.

"Aw, Britt."

"Don't, it's so dumb."

"It's not. You love dancing."

"Yeah," she says a little wistfully. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Ever cry for a week straight? I'm asking everyone I meet and I've yet to be beaten. Not to make you nervous, but you may be speaking to a world record holder right now."

You giggle into the pillow under your head, you giggle even harder when you can hear her laughing too.

Have you ever cried for a week straight? When was the last time you cried? Because it wasn't the last time you were really sad. You kind of just stayed in your bed for the whole day and wallowed. Why? Because you wanted to talk to her but you were scared and you felt, no, feel like a terrible person.

"San? San? Are you okay?"

Uh-oh.

The shaking of your shoulders that was once caused by laughing at Brittany had swiftly switched to being caused by your tears.

You feel like such a little bitch.

The soft pressure of Brittany rubbing your back soothes you and you try to reign in your crying. Why you chose this to be the moment to start blubbering like a baby is beyond you, but you'll happily accept the comfort that Brittany is offering.

She pulls you into a hug and continues to stroke up and down your back.

"Hey, what's wrong? Is it earlier? You know we're all good, right?"

"It's not that," you mumble through quiet, short breaths as you try to even your breathing.

"Then what is it? Is it Quinn?"

The mention of her name is enough to set you off again, you try to stop yourself by forcing yourself to speak but your bottom lip wobbles too much as you get choked up.

"Oh San," Brittany says sadly and you're glad it's dark because you couldn't imagine how much more mortifying it'd be if this was in the light. "Did something happen between you?"

Not trusting your words, you nod into her chest.

"Oh," you hear her whisper and you're sure she knows without you even saying. You hope she doesn't think less of you but could you blame her?

"What did she say to you?"

"Nothing," you mumble into her chest, "well, not nothing. She said it can't happen again and I agree," your voice begins to strain, "but fuck, it hurts and I don't even know her. Not for real. Britt," you whimper, "I think I made a really big mistake." You push yourself up and look to the crack of light barely making its way through Brittany's blinds. "Is it fucked that I'm not sorry for what I did to him but for the feelings I have?"

Brittany is quiet and the longer the silence lingers the greater the weight in your chest feels.

"Lie back down with me," she says gently.

Her fingers stroke through your hair and you feel sleep tugging at the edges of your mind. Brittany's soft voice stops it from taking you completely.

"Feelings are hard. And I don't know what's going on here, but for everybody's sake it's for the best it doesn't happen again. In another life maybe, but in the here and now, let her go. It'll hurt and it'll suck, like really suck, but trust me, anything more would just mean more mess. And don't get me wrong San," her words seem to lift from the serious depths they were just in, "you're not a great cleaner."

She pokes you in your side to make sure you know she's just teasing you.

You manage a small gasp despite your itchy eyes and throat, you appreciate Brittany's attempt to lighten the mood.

"I can clean just fine, thanks."

"Sure," she drawls sarcastically, "I think you forget I've seen your apartment."

"For real though, I hear you. I knew it the moment I left the building, but it's something more when somebody else says it, you know?"

"I know."

That night at Brittany's did wonders in bringing you out of your funk. You dove head first into your law school applications and worked your ass off to leave a lasting impression at Sylvester & Schuester. You debated as to whether to go back to Columbia or not, maybe you could have tried your hand at Stanford instead, you'd be in the Californian sun and away from the city. But in the end you stuck with Columbia, choosing the friendships you'd made and home you'd built for yourself over the scary idea of starting again.

Sure, Quinn had done a number on you. But a pick up your life and leave the city she hardly ever came to number? No, you can't say she did. And honestly, that would be a little overdramatic.

A few weeks had since passed and the pace of the city life had kept you occupied, you'd been shouldering your way through a congested part of the sidewalk when a woman who wasn't looking where she was going knocked into you, causing you to drop your coffee.

"Watch it!" You'd snapped, only to be completely ignored in return.

You grumbled and carried on, a storm cloud settling firmly above your head.

And then literally, a storm cloud had not only settled above you head, but had opened the heavens too.

Cold drops of rain landed on your face, a warning before the real danger came. You picked up your pace and rushed to get home, your bad mood getting exponentially worse when those drops became a downpour.

Soaked to the bone and absolutely freezing your tits off you came fumbling through your apartment door like a drowned rat. A puddle already forming at your feet and you'd not even been through the door five minutes.

"Fuck this fucking shit," you grumble under your breath, tossing your drenched coat to the floor.

Article after article of clothing follow suit, your jeans putting up the most resistance and causing the most annoyance.

"I swear to," you close your eyes and try to calm yourself as you drag the wet denim down your thighs.

Your phone ringing distracts you.

"Argh," you try kicking them off but they don't budge, leaving you to manoeuvre your way to your phone with them clinging for dear life. "What?" You demand.

"Hi," a soft voice comes from the other end, suddenly derailing your ire, "is this Santana?"

"Yes?" You don't mean for it to sound like a question, but it comes out like one anyway.

You hear a sigh on the other end, causing your brow to crease. You decide to put it on speaker, tossing your phone onto the sofa to continue your struggle, finally getting your jeans past your knees as they fall to the floor.

"It's Quinn."

You stop yourself from leaning down to pick them up and rush to snatch up your phone instead, quickly taking it off speaker and holding it to your ear.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah," she sighs again.

"Wha- why? Why are you calling me?"

"I have to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me."

Are you having a heart attack? Why is it suddenly harder to breathe?

"Okay."

"Have you," she begins but stops just as quickly.

You listen to her breath down the phone, overcome with the need to ask your own questions. Questions you know you'll never ask.

"Before we, you know," oh you do know, "had you been sleeping with many people?"

That was not the kind of question you were expecting, you sit down, cold from the rain and miserably damp everywhere the water could touch.

"Why? What's that-"

"Santana, could you have given me something?"

"What?" You ask, truly lost. The stupid fantasy that Quinn might have called you to ask you if you thought about her well and truly dashed.

"Could you have caught something from someone else and given it to me?"

You don't answer, too shocked to even respond. She must take it for confusion because she asks again.

"What? No!" You say. And you know because, one, you're very on top of your check-ups. And two, you had not been getting any for a while prior Quinn for reasons you're not disclaiming to her. "Why? Who else have you been sleeping with?"

"No one, I swear!" You're surprised by how adamant she is. "Well, except for-"

"Please don't finish that."

"That prick," you hear her murmur.

"Huh?"

"I'll call you back."

And just like that, she's gone again.

Sat in your underwear on your sofa, you suddenly feel the chill more than ever and push the call from your mind. Or at least for long enough to have gotten in the shower.

What the fuck was that?

You're kind of pissed off to be honest. As if that was the reason she'd called. Wouldn't a text have been easier?

Although, a text would have been nothing compared to hearing her voice. Even if it was to hear her asking if you had an STI.

You shake your head you yourself at the absurdity of your thoughts.

You don't hear from her again that night and not for a few nights after that. You start to wonder if you should just call her yourself, you have her number now after all. But you tell yourself no, that you're not touching that with a ten foot pole - Brittany's advice swimming at the back of your head, encouraging you to be a better person.

So when she does ring it's a surprise, not as much of a surprise as the first time of course. You'd obviously saved her number.

"Hello?" She probes.

"Hey," you answer.

"So we're over."

You scrunch you brow in confusion, then set your coffee mug down in realisation.

"What?"

"Your father and I. We're over."

You blink, hard.

"I'm sorry? I mean, why? Was it," you can't quite ask her if it's because of you so you leave your last question unfinished. She seems to know where you were going anyway.

"No, no, it's not that," you hear her sigh down the phone, "he was seeing that woman."

"What woman?"

"The one from the gallery," you can hear the frustration in her voice, "and some others by the-" she stops herself.

"Why are you telling me?"

"I just-"

"You just?"

"I thought you should know. I've got to go. Take care, Santana."

"Wait," and again, she's gone.

A wash of mixed emotion floods you, but it's bitterness that swells. You clench the phone in your hand to stop you from throwing it.

Whatever, what difference does it make?

You don't have the energy to think about this, about her, about what it all means anymore.

And so, life continues. Quinn doesn't reach out again, and your father is so depressed by their break-up he has a party the week later, photos of him and his new girlfriend in the paper and you take a second glance and realise she was right. It was the woman from the gallery.

You can barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes, you know him too well. It was only a matter of time.

As for you, you continue your studies with the intent to succeed, to gain independence (away from your dad's money) and to focus on becoming the best lawyer this city has ever fucking seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey hey, thanks for the comments! I love them and appreciate them a lot, I really do. Hope you're all doing well and staying safe. As for myself, I'm back at uni and getting into my studying groove at the moment. This just means I'll be a little slower at updating (LAMB, specifically - a story I'm writing over on FF), but this one's coming to an end soon and is a little easier to write so shouldn't be too long a wait. Til then, buh-bye.


	6. Hello, Stranger

Two months have come and gone and you've been kicking law school's ass. But worry not, this is a relationship built on balance and mutual respect - as proven by it kicking your ass too.

You rarely shy away from a challenge so it's nothing you weren't prepared for. Long nights, stress, and last-minute panic. All signs of a good thing, your twisted sense of a good thing anyway.

In other good news, Brittany has been auditioning and putting herself out there to pursue her dancing dreams and she's gone and gotten a part in an off-Broadway show. You were ecstatic when she'd called you up one afternoon and told you she had to see you, like, right now! You'd agreed of course and told her to come to yours. She'd brought food with her and plonked herself down opposite you on the floor where you'd splayed out your papers and open textbooks. Just as you were about to stuff your face, you chanced a look her way and saw her looking at you expectantly. When she didn't say anything you took a bite and only when you were mid-chomp did she blurt out the news.

Safe to say you'd almost choked to death, but alas, you did not.

And right now? Right now you're in the front row clapping the loudest and cheering your girl on. No offence to the other twinkle-toes little dancer boys and girls in the show, but you know for a fact that they had nothing on Brittany. She put them to shame.

As soon as the old man in front of you remembers he's still alive and gets out of your way, you'll be slipping out of your row and ducking through a door marked backstage. When the walking Viagra commercial decides to stop to pull his coat on you will yourself to keep your mouth shut. Getting into an argument would not expedite the process, for that you are certain.

With an "Excuse me, _sir_ ," you finally get around the old dear and are one step closer to seeing your bestie.

To congratulate her you'd wracked your brains as to what she'd like and settled on a duck teddy – she may or may not have warned you to not bring flowers, stating that she'd only be upset when they inevitably died a week later because she had no idea how to look after them. It was cute if you did say so yourself.

On your tip-toes, you scan the cramped space and see Brittany laughing at something, her hair now down and tousled. With as much finesse as you can muster, you slip through some more strangers, sweeping Brittany up in a hug as soon as you reach her.

"You were so fucking good," you say into her chest.

"Thanks," she laughs, light and airy, clearly still on a performance high.

Your cheeks hurt for smiling so hard, you're so proud of her. You even give her another quick hug that she giggles at.

"What's that for?"

"Your awe-inspiring performance," you say with all sincerity.

"Shucks," Brittany jokes, but her cheeks colour all the same.

"Here," you say as you hand her the stuffed creature.

The squeal that falls from Brittany's lips makes you jump.

"Santana! She's perfect!" To prove just how perfect Brittany squishes the duck into a hug and pecks her on the head.

"What're you going to call her?" You ask, Brittany's enthusiasm infectious.

"Daphne Duck, no relation to Daisy."

You laugh softly at the name choice, "It's perfect."

"I know, right?" Brittany says with a playful smugness.

"Oh, Britt you were brilliant," another voice joins you and Brittany's attention is soon pulled in twenty different directions as friends, family and castmates all want to have a moment with her.

Naturally, your attention wanes as the stream of voices blend into one monotonous drone that you have no intention of listening to. Instead, you take Brittany's pinkie in yours and mindlessly swing your hands between you as you scan the rest of the backstage crowd.

You appreciate the state of half-dress everyone seems to be in and marvel at the package on the male lead dancer and wonder if Brittany is hitting that. 'Cause if not, why not?

Then just as your eyes drift, thoughts fleeting, something else captures you.

Your stomach drops as you hear it. That laugh. That beautiful laugh that you know you've heard before.

Pushing down your sudden rush of nerves, you refocus your gaze in search of the source. Because you know it has to be her.

It has to be.

And there she is.

Quinn.

She's talking to somebody holding a clipboard, laughing at something they've said.

Her hair is shorter, quite a bit shorter too, but it suits her. A lot. And her smile. Her smile is as enticing as it ever was.

And just like that, she has you again.

You just about lose all the breath in your body when those hazel eyes meet yours.

Brittany's arm sliding around your waist and squeezing draws you back to the conversation and you smile as though you've been listening. But your gaze soon returns to Quinn's, which happens to still be on you. You feel yourself heating up under it and you take a deep breath when you realise she's coming towards you.

"Santana," she greets, her eyes dropping to the hand on your waist and then cutting to Brittany. "Hi, I don't think we've met."

"She was in the show, she's a dancer and you might remember her-"

"I'm Brittany. Santana's best friend," Brittany squeezes you again and you suddenly realise you dropped her pinkie, making your distracted state a little more than obvious to her.

"Oh," Quinn's eyes squint slightly then she brightens suddenly. "The show was fantastic, really just," her eyes flicker down to Brittany's hand again, "fantastic." Her smile is prickly, but she seems to be trying.

"Britt's totally the best dancer ever," you beam.

"Aw, San. Thanks," Brittany coos, teasing but you can tell she appreciates it.

"Britt!" A tall, lean man calls to her. "Get changed we're heading out!"

"Oh!" Brittany lets go and begins to move away, turning to you and giving your elbow a quick squeeze, "I'll be super quick, then we'll head out with the guys." And with a wink, she's gone.

"So, you and Brittany?"

You pull your gaze away from where Brittany had just left and try to hide the smile you feel tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Huh?" You play dumb, watching Quinn fidget and clear her throat.

"Dating. Are you dating?"

"Why?"

The way her eyes search yours make your palms tickle with the need to reach out for her.

"What? I can't ask?"

"I didn't say that."

She folds her arms and you give in, reaching out to grasp her forearm.

"No," you finally answer, "we're not."

Quinn visibly relaxes and then that sly smirk you'd not seen in so many months slips its way onto her lips.

"That's pretty good then."

"Pretty good for who?"

"Oh," her voice dips, "some people I know."

You smile a little at the insinuation but let your hand fall away as you regard her.

"I haven't seen you in a while. I like your hair, short suits you."

Her reaction is almost child-like, "You do? I wasn't too sure, but-" she pauses. "Thanks. And I suppose it has been some time. I'm sorry I didn't text or call. I didn't know if it would've been welcome."

"It probably wouldn't have been."

The disappointment in her face is obvious to you but you don't think it's the time or place to get into it. And in all honesty, you don't have the patience for it.

"Well," she starts, "are you going to invite me?"

"Invite you?"

"For drinks," she says so simply that it seems like the obvious thing to do.

Before you reply you think back to the last time you'd gone for drinks together and then you smile, one of the rare times it's you who is smirking rather than her.

"How about this," your words are playful and draw her closer. "What would you say if I asked you to join me for a drink tonight?"

Her eyebrow twitches and her eyes squint with a smile of her own, "Well that's the thing." She purrs, her delicate fingers playing with the tips of yours. "You'll just have to ask me won't you?"

"San!" Brittany calling you pulls you out of Quinn's trance. She comes running over, her backpack hanging from her shoulder and cheeks rosy from rushing around. "Are you all set?"

"Yeah," you glance towards Quinn.

"Is Quinn coming too?" Brittany asks, shooting the other woman a quick smile.

"I think so," looking back over your shoulder you see Quinn nod and turn back to Brittany. "Yeah, she's coming."

"Cool."

The three of you stand in silence for a beat before Brittany lets out an awkward laugh. Reaching out to grab you, she starts to pull you towards the exit.

"Let's go then," she says, her eyes bouncing between you and Quinn before she reaches out for Quinn too.

You're surprised Quinn doesn't object to being pulled around, you tease as much when you are given a moment alone as you queue up outside the bar the cast is pouring in to.

"Who knew you were such a pushover?"

She scoffs at you in offence, "I wouldn't go that far."

"You wouldn't have let me do that when I first met you."

The look she gives you stirs something within you.

"How do you know?"

You hold eye contact with her for a second but end up pushing her away with a soft "Pfft, shut up," that has her chuckling under her breath.

The bar feels overrun with how many people are bumping into each other and crotch-to-ass, so not your kind of vibe. But then Quinn slides up behind you so she can follow you and you begin to not mind it so much after all.

"Where we headed?" She asks just behind your ear and you suppress the shudder it elicits.

Without saying anything you reach behind you and pull her hands onto your hips and make your way over to where you spot Brittany not-so-sneakily drinking out of a flask instead of buying a drink.

"Hey," she grins when she sees you, "here." She hands it off to you and you don't hesitate in taking a sip yourself, handing it back once more so Quinn can take one too.

Her brow creases as she eyes the metal container and with a small shake of her head says, "No, thanks."

"You sure?"

"I'll head to the bar," she glances at Brittany and gives a nervous smile. "Do you guys want anything?"

You would have thought she'd asked Brittany if she wanted a kitten.

Swinging an arm over her shoulder, Brittany begins to lead Quinn in the bar's direction, not so much of a stall in her step.

"Please, let me lead the way."

Quinn shoots an unsure look over her shoulder and you bite back a laugh.

"So," she says, many vodka and sodas later, eyes heavy and lips quirked in an alluring smile, "Brittany tells me you're scared of thunder."

Dropping your head into your hands you groan, "Oh no, I knew I shouldn't have left you two together."

"So it's true!" She laughs and her sudden burst of giddiness makes you laugh too.

"Maybe a little," you shrug.

Despite the noise in the bar, Brittany, who had taken full advantage of Quinn's sudden willingness to please, was lightly dozing in the spot between you both in the booth, head resting on your shoulder. And even though you love her dearly, you so wish she'd gone to sleep at the other end of the booth, because you can smell Quinn's perfume and it has you wanting to feel the heat of her skin against yours. And as your thoughts follow that train of thought you realise that you too took advantage of Quinn's willingness to please.

Your cheeks burn as you stare at her mouth, aware of it moving and probably producing sound that should mean something to you, but you're too busy thinking about what it can do to listen.

Only when you feel the cold prickle of liquid landing on your cheek do you find yourself back in the present. It doesn't take a genius to know it was Quinn, with the tips of her fingers wet and lips set into an all amused grin.

"What the fuck, Quinn?"

"Maybe listen some time."

Wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, you shoot her a glare. She only rolls her eyes at you and taps you with her foot under the table.

"I'm not playing footsie with you."

"I don't want you to play footsie with me."

"Liar."

"Why would I play footsie when I can just do this?" It's then she manoeuvres around her side of the booth to sit thigh-to-thigh with you. The little budge causes Brittany to stir, eyes bleary and mouth dry.

"Wha's happenin'?"

"Nothing, Quinn just moved."

"Oh," she then plants a soft kiss to your cheek and nods to herself, eyes drooping every few seconds.

"We can leave soon," you murmur to her and stroke her back lightly and she nods with a small smile on her lips, but ultimately she remains unbothered by the conversation and closes her eyes once more.

With Quinn no longer cushioning her, Brittany unceremoniously falls to her left and lands on the leather seats of the booth with no more than a "Huh?" and blissful silence thereafter.

Quinn grimaces, "Oops?"

You're torn between laughing and kissing her, Brittany unharmed and in the depths of slumber.

"Is she okay?" Quinn asks as she leans over you, the slight press of her body against you makes you take a breath. There's not a lot of space for her to sit and even though you could probably move over now, you don't feel particularly inclined to do so.

"Yeah," you manage to get out and she sits back down, somehow closer than before.

"Good," she replies just as softly, her eyes flicking between yours.

"When did you do this?" You ask, grasping at the end of a lock of Quinn's hair.

"Not too long ago," she tilts her head into your hand and you run your fingers lightly through her hair. You think you see her shiver but you can't be too sure. "Last week, actually," she sighs and her warm breath tickles your lips.

Pausing your ministrations you cup her cheek and feel yourself lean further into the space between you.

"What-" she slowly turns her lips to your palm and kisses it, your train of thought momentarily lost. "What happened last week?" You ask when she's back to looking at you.

"Things are changing in my life so I thought, 'Quinn, you should change your hair too'," as she says this, her expression turns adorably earnest. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Do you always talk to yourself in the third person?" You ignore her question for your own.

"No? Wait, do I? I think I've drunk too much."

Her admission makes you giggle, her affronted look even more so.

"Don't laugh at me," the words bordering on a whine if her voice weren't so silky.

"Sorry," you say, no sincere apology in the word.

"Shut up," she says, her attempt to hide her smile failing spectacularly.

"Or what?" You dare.

A thud from behind you distracts you and you find Brittany rubbing her head from the floor.

"Britt? You alright?"

"Yeah?" You just about make out and then you watch as she sits up, quite quickly at that.

"Wait! Britt!"

It's too late. Brittany hits her head on the table with a solid thwack that has her cursing and falling back to the floor.

"Oh, fuck." Reaching your arms out you pull your friend up so she doesn't make the same mistake and shoot Quinn a tight smile. "I'm probably going to take her home."

Quinn jolts into action and stands, pulling the table away from the booth's seats so you can escort Brittany around.

"Where's your bag, Britt?"

"It's here," Quinn replies for her and hands you Brittany's backpack.

"Thanks," you hold Brittany's face in your hands as you inspect her head. "Do you feel dizzy?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Okay, well we're going home now anyway."

"Okay," Brittany nods, her glazed eyes roaming the bar, an inebriated half-smile sat on her lips.

Returning your attention to Quinn you give her an apologetic smile, "Well tonight was a surprise."

"A good one I hope."

"Yeah, I suppose it was." You quickly glance back to Brittany to make sure she hasn't wandered off.

"Look, Santana, would you be up for meeting again? Like for a coffee or something like that?"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"May- Yes. Yes, I am."

"Don't you think that's a little, y'know?"

"What?"

"Weird."

"Oh, I guess I didn't think," she looks down at your shoes.

Okay, so maybe she was with your dad. And maybe she was closer than most to marrying him. But there's something here and it has driven you crazy since you've met her.

"You know what? Sure," she looks confused and then realises you are agreeing. "Here."

You begin to pull your phone out but she places a hand on yours to stop you.

"No, no. I've got it." The words are so simple but they mean that maybe she has thought about you too, that maybe she couldn't delete the number for the same reason you can't just let this moment slip away into another night of drinking out in the city.

"Santana, why is the room tilting?" Brittany's voice reminds you of what you were doing and you slide up beside her and wrap an arm around the taller woman's waist.

"Here, I'll give you a hand," Quinn offers and takes Brittany's backpack from you and holds open the door as you step outside, the cool night air making the drink hit you all over again.

Wobbling in your heels a little you laugh out a small, "Woah," and feel Quinn's hand slip into the small of your back.

The three of you stand, well, huddle, as you wait for the taxi Quinn just called. You're confused when she calls another but then you realise she isn't coming back with you. She's getting her own ride because her place is on the other side of town. If it was up to you, she _would_ be coming back with you, but that might be the alcohol speaking and the fact you haven't gotten laid in far too long.

"I'll see you," she says and pecks you on the cheek when her ride arrives.

"Yeah, see you." And you watch her leave as you squeeze close to Brittany who is slightly swaying on the spot.

"Bye, Quinn!" She calls and you chuckle as Quinn quickly winds the taxi's window down to wave through it.

"Bye!" She shouts, hair blowing into her face.

You join Brittany's returning wave and find yourself waving even when she can't possibly still see you.

On the ride back to yours, after you'd safely deposited Brittany in her bed and ran back down to the waiting taxi, you feel your side buzz and remember your phone. As you pat down your person your thoughts wander to the day you and Brittany finally move in together, Brittany being the one to propose the idea not so many weeks ago and you being the one to find the apartment. It'll make nights light these so much easier.

And then your fingers find cool metal and you're swiping your phone open. You ignore all other notifications but the one telling you 'Quinn Do NOT call!' has messaged you.

_I was so happy to see you tonight_

Three dots.

_It might be weird to say_

_But I missed you_

With a hiss, you release your bottom lip. You'd bitten it a little too hard.

_Oh this is Quinn by the way x_

The last message tickles you for some reason and you wait until you're in bed to reply, your eyes heavy and heartbeat steady and slow.

_I missed u 2 x_

Your thumb hovers over send as you feel the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your conscious mind. Before they can take you completely you let your thumb meet the screen, sending your message and leaving Quinn the last thing on your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow and steady wins the race, no? When I finish up my two current WIP I have some crackship ideas wanting to come to fruition (whether you guys want them or not, haha). Hello, Santina? Let me know what crackships you're into and scenarios you'd love to see but just haven't, cause who knows? Somebody might just cook something up. And as always, a big, fat thank you from the bottom of my heart! Til next time, buh-bye! :)


	7. Sugar Sugar

You wake with a start when you feel your head vibrating. No, not your head. Your phone.

Why is Brittany calling you at this time?

"Hello?" You answer, flopping back onto your bed as you do.

"Santana! It's urgent." You're up again in a panic and falling over yourself to get dressed.

"What? What's happened? Oh my god, are you okay?"

"Santana," you hear Brittany whimper, "I think I've lost her."

Your heart drops at the words, you're not good with loss or consoling those who have lost. Well, it's more a case of you'd prefer not to, but this is Brittany so you'll do whatever you have to do to look after her.

"Oh, Brittany. Is it your grandma?"

"Huh?" Brittany's confusion has you confused.

"You lost someone... a woman?"

"What are you talking about?" Brittany suddenly sounds a lot less distressed and whilst that's surely a good thing you're not one hundred percent certain you're actually awake or having a very realistic dream. Cause, what the fuck?

"Uh."

"I lost Daphne!"

"Who the fuck is Daphne?"

"Santana!"

"What?" You've long since stopped dressing and can feel your frustration rising as you kick the shoe you were going to put on into your dresser, hurting your toe in the process. "Ow! Fuck!"

"Santana, are you hurt? What happened?"

"Britt, please," you begin to beg. "Tell me who Daphne is before I have to commit myself."

"Daphne Duck! You gave her to me yesterday."

The duck. The fucking duck.

You don't know whether to sigh in relief or scream for having been woken up for this.

"Is it in your bag? I'm pretty sure Quinn picked it up for you last night."

"Oh, hang on." You hear rustling, a door slamming, a zip and another, small, sheepish "Oh."

"Find it?"

"Her? Yeah," a small clearing of her throat, "yeah I found her. Sorry, San. I just felt so bad and I would have pretended everything was fine if it was anybody else and then panicked to you about it, but you're both of those people in this situation and the Santana of the you won out."

Your recently-woken brain takes a second to process. "It's fine, Britt. As long as she's safe," you find yourself smiling despite yourself. That stupid duck.

"Yeah, she seems fine. A little hungover though," you swear you hear the smile in her voice.

"Poor Daphne, she should take it easy in the future."

"She says she was celebrating, it can't be helped."

"Sure, sure," you drawl, wanting to laugh at the state Brittany must be in. "I left some ibuprofen the last time I was at yours, it's in your bottom drawer near your bed I think."

"Thanks, San. That'll make me, erm, I mean Daphne feel better in no time."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will," you can't help chuckling.

"Speaking of ladies, what's going on with Quinn?"

"Nice segue."

"I don't own a Segway."

"You know what I meant."

"I couldn't possibly," she deadpans.

"Shut up. She's taking me on a date, alright. Happy now?"

"Very. You're so giving in the morning."

"You should see me at night."

"Santana, you have a girlfriend now. Don't go teasing me like that."

"She is _not_ my girlfriend."

"But you wouldn't mind if she was."

"I think I'd need to know her a little better for that."

"Good thing you're going on a date then, huh?"

"Hmm."

"Glad you agree with me."

You roll your eyes at her and will for said eye roll to be sent to her telepathically.

"Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Wait. That worked?"

"Did what work?"

"Nothing, never mind." You shake your head at yourself.

"Well let me know how it goes and look after your heart, Santana. Cause I can only do so much and Quinn looks kind of strong, I don't know if I'd want to fight her."

Laughing at the absurdity of the image of Quinn and Brittany in a fight you reassure Brittany that you'll try your best and with that you say your love yous and goodbyes, promising as always to speak soon.

After a short nap and suddenly finding it to be the afternoon you hop in the shower to freshen up and get last night off of you. When you're finally out and towel-clad, you reach for your phone and see you have a missed call from Quinn. Despite your sudden onset of nerves, you call her back.

She answers on the third ring with an out-of-breath, "Hello?"

"Hey, Quinn. It's Santana."

"Yeah, I knew that it was you I just," you hear clattering on the other end of the phone and pull it back from your ear with a grimace, "... work and the whole thing is a mess."

"Sorry, I missed that with all the, I don't even know what that was. Where are you?"

"I'm at work. I work at the theatre now and," you hear more clattering, "Daniel can you actually do your job and not drop that again, please? Actually, just leave it, I'll do it. Sorry, hey. Are you still there?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm here."

"It's all just a bit hectic at the moment. I rang earlier and left my phone down here, I rushed to-" her words are taut. You can practically feel the stress radiating through the phone.

"Hey, it's okay. I just wanted to call back and check in? Maybe arrange something?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. That's why I was calling actually, I was thinking as soon as you can really? I have work most days but I have breaks and you know, when I finish work. Like other people do." You hear a faint smacking sound. "Ignore me, obviously you know people finish work and have time to do things. I don't know what I'm saying. And honestly, I don't know what I'm doing. Can we start this again?"

You're so tempted to tease Quinn for sounding a bit of a mess but you decide against it and instead opt for a simple, "Yes." To which Quinn promptly ends the call and has you saying aloud, "What the fuck?"

Not a few seconds later is your phone ringing again and you see Quinn is calling you.

Deciding to play along, you answer with a, "Hello?"

"Hi, Santana. It's Quinn."

"Oh, Quinn. Hi! I was wondering when you'd call."

"You did? Well, I'm so glad I caught you because I was wondering if we could arrange this date I asked you on."

"Wow, straight to the point. I like that."

"You do? Consider it noted."

"So, when's this date happening?"

You play with a loose thread on your towel and wander around your bedroom about three seconds from diving onto your bed to kick your legs and twirl your hair. Too bad you don't have an old school landline. Calls like this could really benefit from a cord.

"I- I hadn't thought that far ahead. I wasn't sure you'd say yes to be honest. But I'm glad you did, don't get me wrong."

"Okay, chill out. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Now that you mention it, I totally am. Do you even like coffee?"

"I actually kind of love it."

"Wow, what a coincidence because I do too."

"Really?"

"Erm, no. I'm more of a tea person."

"Yeah, thought so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Do you have a preferred place? I am as free as a bird at the moment, studying aside. I can work around you."

"Can you now?" Her voice dips and you click your tongue.

"I think we both know the answer to that." She laughs softly down the phone.

"Okay, okay. I know a place, its right by the theatre actually so I can come straight after work."

"You said you work there, right? What happened to investment banking?"

"Change of heart. What can I say? But its temporary, I'm in a, let's say, transitional period in my life."

"Transitional, huh? What do you do there?"

"I'm helping my friend out with the stage management and doing odd jobs and stuff like that. It'd probably totally bore you."

"No, no. I mean, do you do any heavy lifting?"

She sighs on the other end of the phone. "Some and fuck, you've just reminded me. Daniel dropped the fucking- y'know what. Not important."

You ignore her to focus on the key information she'd just given you. "So what you're saying is that you work up a sweat at this gig? Any chance I'd get to see you in action?"

Choosing to ignore you in turn she hums, "Can I text you the place's address and we make it about five pm?"

Smiling down the phone you say, "Sure."

"Okay, cool."

"Cool? I didn't know you knew what was cool, grandma."

Quinn's scandalised gasp has you regretting the words immediately and now you're the one sweating.

"You dick!" She, thankfully, laughs again.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your day and stop slacking!"

"Right you are. See you, Santana."

"See you."

If anyone could see the pure cheese that was your grin right now you don't even think you'd feel embarrassed. So you're kind of smitten. So what? You just hope you're not building your hopes up for nothing.

The bell above the door rings as you push your way through, searching the tables for where Quinn is sat.

"You're late."

"I promise it was an accident." You wince as you turn toward the woman sat at the table nearest the window.

"I'm messing with you. It has barely been five minutes."

"Still, sorry." She shakes her head at you as you go to slide into the seat opposite hers, stopping just before you do to ask. "Have you ordered?"

"No, I thought I'd wait to see what you wanted."

"It's okay, I'll get it whilst I'm up." You say as you stand fully.

"Barely, you almost just sat down."

"But did I? No. So, what do you want?"

"I asked you on the date, let me get it."

"Quinn, I swear to all that is mighty. Please, I can get a coffee and a tea. Maybe even a cake if you're well behaved."

"Well behaved? How did you know my middle name?"

You scoff and roll your eyes, "Got a regular ole jokester over here, huh? What do you want?"

She smiles at you in a way that has your insides flipping and you take a breath to settle yourself, hoping you're subtle about it as you watch her watch you - which is totally not helping the situation, by the way.

"I'll just have a regular tea with almond milk, please."

"Well picked. I'll be," you point to the stupidly close counter, "just over there."

"So far away? How will I cope?"

"You'll figure it out."

Ordering your drinks you eye the desert menu and wonder what Quinn would like. Sure, you could just ask her, but where was the fun in that? She may hate it, she may love it. Either way, it's a win. Hates it means more for you. Loves it means brownie points. Ugh, perfect! Brownie is a universal piece of gooey goodness. God, how long has it been since you've let a brownie pass your lips?

"Would you like anything else?" The cashier asks and jolts you out of your reverie.

"Can I get two brownies, please?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks," the drool potential is real.

Oh no, what if Quinn has been watching you? Now that's embarrassing. Is she watching now? Ha. What are you thinking?

You spare a glance over your shoulder and find her eyes on you.

With this ass of course she is.

You waltz back over to your table juggling the two drinks and brownies and manage to set them down without incident.

"Thank you, Santana."

"My pleasure, Quinn."

Taking the cup into your hands you blow over the rim and watch as Quinn does the same, though you daren't take a sip for fear of burning your mouth and making yourself look like an idiot when you inevitably spill it.

"Where do we start?" You begin, hoping to get the ball rolling. Any direction will do.

"We could start with you. How are you? What have you been up to?"

"I've been good, I mean I've been stressed too of course but it's part and parcel with the whole wanting to be a lawyer thing. Other than studying and looking for places it's been rather, what's the word? Uneventful. Actually, scrap that. Last week, Britt and I did one of those geocache hunt things." You feel laughter bubbling in your chest as you recall your misadventure. "It was all Brittany, she'd been telling all about how we could find something really cool and fuck me," you can't help the laughter now as you start to picture her face when, "she realised about five hours-"

"Five hours!" Quinn laughs too.

"Five goddamn hours, Quinn!" Tears begin prickling your vision. "She realised five hours in that she wasn't even using the right app. Her face killed me, I was so mad at first but you should have seen her. And I've never known Brittany to sulk, but holy shit did she sulk. Full toddler pout and everything," you wipe your eyes. "She's going to kill me. She swore me to secrecy, but she spilled about me so I consider us even."

"Sounds fun," Quinn smiles.

"God, yeah, five hours of trekking around the city. Such fun," you drolly comment. "Well that's me and my adventures."

"You said you were moving?"

"Oh, yeah. Britt and I are moving in together, it just makes sense."

"Are you _sure_ you're not dating?"

You laugh at this and shake your head. "Quinn," you motion a cross over your chest, "cross my heart, I swear we're not dating. And don't think I forgot your little jealous spout the other night."

"Jealous? I was not!"

"Hmm, yeah. Pull the other one whilst you're at it." She bites her lips and dips her head to softly laugh. "So what about you? What has Miss Quinn Fabray been up to to land herself in the big city?"

Her eyes meet yours again and she breaks a bit of her brownie off and pops it in her mouth to think over her answer.

"Let's see," she looks out of the window for a second longer and then sits back, shoulders back and levels with you. The eye contact is kind of unnerving and a turn on, you can't lie. "I think I should start with the big, _big_ stuff. Like," she pauses again. "Dammit," she looks away.

"You're making me nervous," you chuckle anxiously.

"Sorry, sorry. I, okay, okay. Breathe, Quinn." She mutters, glancing back up to you and resuming her prior posture. "I am a bit gay after all."

"Oh," you respond, unsure how to respond at all. "Am I..." you let the words die before they even leave your lips.

"Shocker, no?" She jokes. She goes on to tell you about how after ending things with your father that she found herself at a crossroads, her life turned upside down and the feeling which she can only describe as freefalling through life consumed her. It wasn't a sudden realisation, obviously the tryst she had with you had clued her in some, but to live ignorantly was to live blissfully. Until she could admit she wasn't happy with that kind of bliss anymore. Ever since Quinn was little she's had an affinity for theatre, having gone her whole life and dreamed of working in the arts. Of course, life doesn't always happen how we want it to. She'd fell into banking right out of Yale and had let her art ambitions fall to the wayside. Although, as proven by the current job she has, she'd kept in touch with her theatre friends from college and has connections where she needs them now that she's changing career paths. Changing careers and uprooting her life to pursue a new one. A truer one.

"That's really brave, Quinn."

"It's scary is what it is." She clasps her hands together on top of the table, your drinks long since gone cold.

Placing your hands on top of them you make sure she's looking at you when you say, "Really fucking brave. You'll find your thing, you'll be just fine."

"Promise?" She half-jokes, but her eyes hold a lot of uncertainty.

"Promise." You say so surely that you surprise yourself. You believe the words and the small wobble of her chin and the tears that brim her eyes tell you she believes you too. Or at least wants to believe you. "Shall we get out of here?"

"Yeah."

Holding the door open for the other woman she gives you a quiet thanks and promptly takes your hand as you follow her over the threshold.

"Where to?" You ask with a squeeze of her hand.

"Your place or mine?"

Laughing you reply with a, "Very funny."

"I'm not joking."

You stop in your tracks, pulling Quinn to a stop with you.

"You're not joking?"

"I have very innocent intentions, I promise."

"I don't know, Quinn. I don't think you're capable of innocent intentions."

She presses a hand to her heart. "You wound me."

You shrug, continuing to walk with your hands still linked.

"Fine. We can go to yours. I worry what you might think of me if you saw my apartment right now." Also, you totally want a good snoop around a one, Miss Quinn Fabray's, home.

"Mine it is. Come on, it's not too far."

The woman tells no lies. Not ten minutes later you're arriving at her building and heading up to her floor.

"Damn Quinn, you could wake up literally eleven minutes before work and still make it on time. Consider me extremely jealous."

"Envious."

"What?"

"Nothing."

You squint at her as she unlocks her door. "Okay, nerd."

She scoffs a laugh as she pushes the door open and holds it with her hand, gesturing for you to go first.

"What a gentlewoman. First date and brings me home and everything."

"Please, sit down and I'll get us some refreshments." She walks into what you assume is her kitchen and calls to you. "Can I interest you in a water? A lemonade perhaps?"

"A glass of your finest, if you would."

"Coming up."

Whilst Quinn is occupied you scope the place out. It's very, hmm, eclectic. Lots of books, pictures with other blonde people in them, a few candles, and neat pieces of art. And oh, lots of plants. Where'd she even find this many plants? Okay, maybe you're exaggerating. They're cute. And hey, who can hate clean air?

"Excuse the plants," Quinn says as she comes in holding two glasses of red wine. "I'm babysitting for my neighbour. First day I moved in he was going on vacation and asked me to look after them."

"That is so sus, Quinn." You say as you begin a closer inspection of said plants. "He could have put cameras in these. You don't undress in here do you?"

"I mean, I live alone so I undress wherever I like."

You're not surprised that this statement gives you food for thought, but consider your previous train of thought thoroughly lost on the track to nowhere.

"Would you like to sit or are you going to keep standing there in silence?"

"Oh," you sit, knees facing toward her, ass on the edge of the seat.

"This is awkward now isn't it?"

"A little," she groans and covers her face with one hand, "no, no, don't do that." You sit back and pull her hand away. "Just, I don't know," you look around the apartment, looking for something, anything. Then, a thought strikes you. "Let's shake it out."

"What?" She looks at you as though you've grown another head.

"Yeah, come on." You stand and hold your hands out for her to take and pull her up.

"What are we doing?" She giggles nervously.

"Shaking it out?"

"Oh no, don't say it like that. Now I'm scared you don't know what you're doing."

"Puh-lease. I always know what I'm doing." You move from foot-to-foot, taking short breaths to build the courage to absolutely make a fool out of yourself. If this goes to shit you're blaming Brittany. "Okay, so just," you bounce on your toes a little, "loosen up. Jump around. Go crazy."

"Santana, are you serious?"

God, if you're out there, please help me. You pray.

"Yes, Quinn. Please humour me." Just as you're about to begin you hold up a hand.

"What?"

"Music. We're missing music. You have a speaker right?"

"Yes," she says tentatively, pointing to a docking station.

"Perfection, one sec." And not a few seconds later, the music taste of the gods is flowing through Quinn's speakers. "Okay, let's go." You take her hands and start moving until she joins you. At first she's stiff and self-conscious but you soon have her laughing so hard she's almost keeling over.

Coming to Quinn's you really did not expect to be working up a sweat like this. But fuck, it's kind of fun to act stupid. And maybe your inner teenager kind of likes it every time you make Quinn laugh by doing some outrageous move that you most certainly learnt from Brittany and her friends.

"Santana!" Ah, you've reached the point of getting carried away and find yourself falling, falling, falling.

With a yelp you fall into the fern behind you and smash the pot it lives in, landing on your ass with a solid thud.

It goes quiet for a second as you look at each other. Quinn with a look of disbelief and you with horror.

"Tell that guy I'll buy him another one."

And then she's laughing again and falling to her knees to settle beside you, her laugh infectious and smile so, just so, so... You kiss her. She's laughing but you kiss her anyway and it goes quiet again.

When you pull away her lips follow yours and you stop so she can meet your mouth again.

Your mouths have had this dance before and oh, you can tell. It's scary just how familiar, how natural it feels to kiss Quinn like this. You're breathless when she breaks away and now it's you who follows her. She pecks your lips and then pulls back completely.

"We should take this slow." The words make you ache with want. They mean she's thinking about doing what you're thinking about doing. Talk about mental synchronicity.

The "Yeah," that slips from your lips is barely a breath and you're leaning up to recapture her lips.

"San," she whispers against them and your eyes flutter open to meet her gaze. "We should go on another date and maybe a few more before we," her eyes dip and her lips brush against yours, "before we go any further."

The words make you smile. With a soft kiss you put some space between you both. "I can respect that." She bites her lip and you squeeze your legs closed. "I suppose you were telling the truth."

"About what?"

"Innocent intentions," you say with a lot more timbre than you'd intended, but you can't help the things she does to you. Even when she's not touching you.

"Maybe. Or I'm just making it known early on who the boss is here." She smirks and you both chuckle.

"The boss, huh?" God, you wish she'd kiss you again.

"Yes." And then she gets this glint in her eye and her lips twitch. "Maybe you should start calling me-"

"You're not going to make me call you 'Mommy' are you?"

"I mean," she shrugs and you hope she's joking.

"Still a sore spot, Quinn," you joke narrowing your eyes at her and crossing your arms.

She pokes at your leg, "I'm kidding."

"Yeah, thought so."

"So dramatic." She uses your thigh for leverage as she stands. "Want to watch a movie or do something else that's PG?"

"I guess," you begin, "but maybe we could change the rating to a twelve for some light making-out during?"

"I'm okay with that."

It's really hard to not smile around her. "Nice."

"Nice," she repeats, amusement lacing her voice.

To both of your credits, you do manage to keep it strictly twelve despite the temptation to take it further. And when you eventually leave it's the same day, having not stayed over after being thoroughly satisfied by the other woman. Nevertheless, it was a good and hopeful end to your first official date, the ones that will follow seeming all that more promising.

"Bye," she'd uttered against your lips.

"Bye," you'd leant back from her, but she still held on to one of your wrists as you stood in the corridor.

"Call me?" She'd asked, body leaning against the frame of her front door.

"Yes." You'd answered, planting another, smaller kiss on her gorgeously pink lips.

Lying in your bed later that night you pick up your phone and dial her number.

"Hello?"

"Hey," you grin down the phone.

"You're up late."

"So are you."

"When can I see you again?"

"When are you free?"

And she gave you a day and you went on that date and the next three without so much as a squeeze of flesh over clothes. Whilst it wouldn't have been unwelcome, you have also enjoyed just spending time with the other woman. She's incredibly smart, charming and, of course, beautiful. You find yourself wondering if you're rushing in with things, but then you see her again and your world is made all that brighter and exciting.

You're kind of scared you might already be a little bit in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You may have gathered from the chapter's title that this was going in a different kind of direction than it did. I was well and truly caught by the fluff trap. So cheesy! Next chapter is from Quinn's perspective (that's the plan at least), should be interesting lollllllll. Thanks as always and til next time!


	8. Sweetener

Quinn has never been inclined to work for free, especially when said work entailed anything that made her break a sweat. So it was a funny thing that she was so willing to help Santana move in with Brittany. And even funnier still, she didn't even have to be asked.

During a walk in the park after a long day at work and stressful day studying for Santana, Santana begins to worrying over what she's going to take with her and what she's going to get rid of, working herself up to the point she begins to text Brittany mid-conversation claiming that she needs to ask Brittany just one more thing despite having bugged her the entire day already.

Gently placing her hand on top of Santana's, Quinn looks into those deep, brown eyes and says, "I'll come around and help you out, okay?"

It only made sense, she was in the city, she was pretty free, and so what if she was feeling a little generous?

"What? No, no. Quinn don't be stupid, I'll be fine I just-"

"Santana, please." Santana stops talking and Quinn fights a smile at the look on the other woman's face. "Let me help. You won't believe how rare this offer is, so please take me up on it."

An unsure expression passes over Santana's face but after a moment she sighs and accepts, smiling at Quinn like she'd hung the moon.

"I've hired a van out for Saturday, I'll have it around twelve-ish if that's good with you." Santana's hand squeezes Quinn's wrist, a sign she's about to leave and probably stress some more but out of the vicinity of the woman who'd tell her to stop.

"Yeah, that's fine. I may even bring you a house warming gift if you're lucky."

"Quinn, really. Helping me is already too much," Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead she steps closer to the other woman, "you don't have to get me anything-"

Quinn presses a firm kiss to Santana's lips that stops her in her tracks. "Just let me do this. I want to. And anyway, who's to say it'll be a good gift?"

"Hmm," Santana's eye squints, a small smile teasing at the corner of her lips, "I doubt you could give a bad one."

Quinn resists the urge to laugh, instead planting another, softer kiss to those perfect lips that she's come to adore. Humming in neither agreement nor disagreement, simply enjoying the closeness they now share against the elements. A sudden breeze sends leaves skittering down the park's path causing a chill to chase its way down Quinn's back and Santana to pull her even closer.

"I'm gonna go now," Santana says, confirming what Quinn already knew was coming, "but I'll see you soon."

"Okay," Quinn smiles. "I'll see you soon."

When Santana instinctively closes her eyes and leans forward to kiss Quinn once more, Quinn's smile only widens.

"Quinn, stop staring and kiss me goodbye already."

Quinn brings her lips so that they brush against Santana's, her warm breath caressing cold skin. "So bossy."

"You like it." The words spill across Quinn's lips like the hot tongue that formed them, teasing another smile out of her.

"Debatable." She says out loud, but by God, Santana was right. Quinn fell naturally into assertiveness, it was her default setting. In charge. In control. But that didn't mean she didn't enjoy the times Santana would push back on that.

The kiss that follows makes Quinn forget about the chill, in fact, it makes her forget about a lot of things. As did most of their kisses. The world seems to fall away when she kissed Santana.

"Saturday," Santana reiterates as she slowly breaks away with a small nod.

Quinn watches her leave and with lightness in her step, turns in the other direction and heads home.

At twelve on Saturday, Quinn arrives at Santana's dressed in her old art overalls, her hair pinned up and out of the way. Not that it gets in the way as much as it used to. If she were to describe her appearance it would be art teacher.

"Wow. You're really leaning into your newfound identity." Are the first words out of Santana's mouth as she opens her door to Quinn.

"Huh?"

"You look like a lesbian."

"Oh," Quinn puts her hands in her pockets and pulls the overalls out in front of her to look them over. "I thought I'd dress for the occasion." Quinn was starting to feel a little self-conscious.

"Fuck, I wasn't making fun," Santana runs her finger along the opening of the huge pocket on the front, "you look cute."

"Cute?" Quinn scoffs.

"Fine. Hot. That better?"

"A little."

"Are you coming?" Santana asks as she steps backwards, inviting Quinn inside.

"Would you like me to?" Quinn asks innocently enough, but Santana's resulting blush makes her feel a little smug nonetheless.

It's also enough to distract her from the whole purpose for being her here in her… what was Santana to Quinn? What are they? They haven't really discussed it. They haven't even slept together since that first time and even though Quinn had asked to go slow, she has started to want to speed up the process. Especially when Santana gives her that coy look, that coy look that is so, so deceiving. Quinn knows what Santana is capable of and it makes the anticipation all the more delicious.

"Fuck me," Santana pants, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm, "that shit was heavy."

Quinn, in the same state, stands with her hands resting on her hips as she admires their efforts. They'd managed to pack the van without too much trouble. The only two-man job was the dresser Santana said she couldn't possibly part with.

"And how were you going to move this if I didn't help?"

The cockiness that suddenly overcomes Santana is impressive, "Have you seen me? I'm _sure_ I would have found somebody willing to help. The building manager has been trying to get in my pants since I moved in, he would have jumped at the chance… but I guess I'm lucky somebody else did, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty lucky."

Quinn pushes the van doors closed and pats it for good measure before joining Santana in the front. Judging by the fidgeting, Santana seems a little nervous to be driving.

"Ever driven one of these before?"

"No, but first time for everything."

"True," Quinn replies calmly in an attempt to hide her sudden apprehension. "Did you say goodbye to your apartment?"

Santana clicks her tongue and leans close to her window to look up at the building, "She knows I love her," brown eyes turn back to her, "and anyway, I'll have to come back to drop off my keys and do some paperwork in the week anyway. Don't want to tease her like that."

"I see. That'd be quite cruel wouldn't it?"

"Exactly," a cheeky smile now graces her lips, "and I'm anything but if I can help it."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"I couldn't tell you, Quinn."

Quinn's lips twitch, then she remembers something. "Oh, I have that gift I promised."

Santana flips the van's mirror back up, looking at Quinn with a faint look of surprise, "You really got me a gift?"

"Duh," Quinn shrugs, reaching into the pocket of her overalls and pulling out a Taylor Swift keyring with the words 'Shake It Off' written on both sides. "To remember our first official date."

Santana's brow scrunches in confusion before she registers why on Earth Quinn would ever think she would want a Taylor Swift keyring and then her cheeks flame with embarrassment. "You asshole," she laughs, really belly laughs. "I'm never going to live that down."

"No. No you're not." Quinn grins, her own laugh bubbling through her words.

"Damn, I knew I should've gotten you to sign a non-disclosure when I had the chance," Santana slaps her thigh in faux-annoyance.

Quinn tuts, "C'mon now Miss Up-And-Coming-Lawyer, got to up your game."

"Suppose you'll have to stick around to keep me on my toes," Santana casually throws out and the insinuation that Santana sees them together long-term makes Quinn's heart beat a little faster.

"I suppose I will."

Hours had passed since Quinn and Santana had unloaded Santana's things, Brittany had been there when they arrived and lent a hand which sped the whole process tenfold. She put Quinn and Santana to shame with the ease and speed she moved the boxes upon boxes of Santana's old apartment into their new one. But she didn't stick around, being the whirlwind she is, she gave them both a cheery goodbye and said she'd be back with a surprise.

Santana had given Quinn a dubious look, but Brittany ignored it in favour of skipping out of the front door.

From then on it had been just the two of them. They've been dating for a few weeks now and all of their dates have resulted in no more than a kiss or two… or three. And almost all of them have involved going out and doing something together, public spaces kept them in check. Well, that was how Quinn reasoned it when she decided to set the pace to glacial.

Being alone with Santana in a private space was a test of her own will and she knew it. Santana didn't even have to try to be sexy, even when tripping over one of the many boxes strewn across the living room she somehow managed to pull it off. And although sexy was good, oh so good, Quinn enjoyed the soft underbelly that was Santana in her element. Record playing, singing along as she pulls out her kitchen utensils, hair down, attention taken by a G-string in the wrong box.

Her puzzled gaze met Quinn's unabashed stare, thong hanging from her finger, confusion soon replaced by something more heated at the look in Quinn's eyes.

The G-string is soon forgotten, dropped back into the wrong box as Santana makes her way over to Quinn, who has been arranging Santana's records by year of release despite Santana telling her she didn't have to do anything at all.

No sooner is she on her knees to be level with Quinn, a sudden uncertainty passing over her features as she rubs sweaty palms down her thighs. Quinn follows the motion with her eyes then swallows, hard.

"Do you need any help?" Santana asks, her voice low and smooth like butter.

Running her finger over the hard edge of the record in her hand, Quinn dips her head to hide the heat in her cheeks.

Clearing her throat she eventually lifts it again to say, "I won't say no to a hand."

Santana's mouth quirks into a smirk as she takes the record from Quinn. The slight brushing of hands sends a small spark through her, definitely not helping the blushing situation.

"Here," Santana says in an almost whisper.

What 'here' means is entirely lost on Quinn. Her eyes not following Santana's hands. No, they follow her eyes, mouth, then teeth as Santana's lips break into another smile.

The sound of cardboard scratching against hardwood joins the crooning from the record player as Quinn pushes the box aside, edging forward on her knees to close the gap between them. With a gentle press of hands on hips, Quinn pulls Santana towards her to capture her in a kiss.

Eyes closed, lips against lips, tongue against tongue. Smoothing her hands around Santana's waist, Quinn hugs the other woman against her, revelling in the pressure of body against body. Santana's hands brush against Quinn's jaw and neck. The light scratch of Santana's nails at her nape make her eyes roll back behind her eyelids. It feels so good.

"Knock, knock!" Brittany announces, startling both Quinn and Santana in equal measure, the sharp pinch of pain that radiates from her lip being another unexpected surprise.

"Ah, fuck," Quinn yelps, pulling back to touch her lip. "You bit me."

"Sorry," Santana hushes, brushing a tentative thumb over Quinn's bottom lip before planting an even lighter kiss there. "Kissed it better," she follows with a wink as she sits back on her haunches.

Quinn shakes her head, mindlessly running the tip of her tongue over the sore spot before returning her attention to Brittany who has just finished kicking off her shoes and putting her bags on the floor.

"Remember that surprise I told you about?" She sings, her voice practically vibrating with excitement.

"Uh-huh," Santana replies, whilst Quinn eyes the suspiciously active bag besides Brittany's feet.

"Well here he is," with swift movements Brittany unzips her bag and pulls out the fattest cat Quinn has ever witnessed. She has to stop her jaw from hitting the floor at his sheer enormity. "A friend for Daphne."

Quinn edges a glance in Santana's direction and sees a mixture of alarm and shock written all over her face, her mouth opening and closing a few times before settling on, "What the fuck is that?"

Brittany's grin spreads cheek to cheek, "Lord Tubbington, of course."

"Of course," Santana mutters in pure disbelief.

Later that evening, with Tubbington settled on her feet, Santana busy in the kitchen, and Brittany sat on the opposite end of the sofa, she watches the closing scenes of Iron Giant with tears brimming her eyes. She is so enraptured she doesn't feel the poke at first, but eventually, Brittany's prodding gets her attention.

With a self-conscious smile, Quinn dabs at her eyes and waits for Brittany to speak.

"So are you and San a thing?"

The question would have been more of a surprise if the answer was no, but Quinn and Santana did have a thing going on. What exactly was to be determined, but it was a thing.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"No," Quinn reaches down to itch between the cat's ears, "I know we're a thing."

It makes her heart beat a little faster to admit it out loud. Not so long ago she couldn't even admit she had an attraction to women, never mind being romantically involved with one and being open about it.

"Sorry about earlier."

"Huh?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt, but I picked Tubbs up pretty early and there was only so long I could carry him around the park," Brittany leans over to cover Tubbington's ears. "He's a bit on the heavy side," she mouths.

"Where'd you even get him?"

"That's a secret," Brittany smiles, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Oh," Quinn says, unsure.

"Just kidding, I'm looking after him for a few days for a friend of mine." She pecks Tubbington on his head. "But don't tell Santana. I'm going to make her sweat it a little longer thinking she'll have to live with him."

"Don't tell Santana what?" Santana asks as she strolls into the living room.

"Nothing," Brittany preens with a butter wouldn't melt smile.

"Sure," Santana drawls.

Quinn stands, "I think I'll call it a day and head home," she looks to the darkening sky outside.

"You want me to walk you out?" It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.

"Bye, Brittany." Quinn gives a small wave. "Bye, Tubbs."

"Bye, Quinn." Brittany waves back and takes one of Tubbington's paws to do the same.

They'd said their goodbyes and Quinn was already halfway down the hallway when she was struck with the urge to turn around. When she did, Santana was still leaning around the door to watch her leave.

"Did you forget something?"

Quinn stands there for a second, weighing her options.

"I just," she pauses, "we're a thing, right?"

The laugh she gets in response does little to help her sudden uncertainty.

"I'd hope so."

"Oh, good," she says, sagging in relief as Santana approaches her.

"You surprise me every day, did you know that?" Santana says, her dark eyes shining. Quinn's eyes close as Santana presses her lips to hers, and with a final, "Text me when you get home, okay?" Santana walks back into her new apartment and leaves Quinn with tingling lips and a racing heart.

The following weekend a storm hits New York. Blistering winds, pounding rain, the works.

Turning her phone over in her hand, Quinn glances out of her apartment's window to look at the dreary scene outside. It was overcast and people were running, umbrellas in hand, through dirty puddles and sparse streets. Even though the city was greyer than it normally was, she could understand why people enjoyed the rain. It made being inside cosier and it had a certain beauty to it.

She wonders what Santana is doing when a rumble of thunder cues the devil herself; with a swipe of her screen her question is answered.

"Hey."

"Hey, what's up?"

"Look outside, that's what's up," Quinn trails her eyes along the darkening skyline. "Anyway," she continues and Quinn can almost hear Santana's lips purse over the phone, "Britt's away for the weekend and... I'd appreciate some company."

" _Some_ company?"

"Well, yours specifically actually."

"I think something could be arranged. I'll be there in," Quinn glances to the clock hanging above her bookshelf and to the pouring rain outside, "twenty, give or take."

That twenty became thirty-five due to Quinn's sudden panic over what she should wear to Santana's. Having decided on something casual after some time, her efforts were to be for nothing when her taxi pulled up outside of Santana's building. In the six steps it took her to get to the door and get buzzed in, Quinn was drenched to the bone.

She was cold and wet. It sucked.

"Did you walk here?" Santana gapes when she opens her door to a drowned rat.

Quinn's blank look is enough to have her ushering her in and pulling off Quinn's coat as she kicks off her shoes.

Santana's place is cast in a warm glow, the light from deeper into the apartment bleeds into the small crook where the front door is tucked away with the coats and shoes. Well, some of the shoes. Quinn had seen the true extent of Santana's shoe addiction when she helped her unpack and the measly pile at the door couldn't compare.

"Fuck, you're soaked."

Quinn grimaces, her clothes cling to her skin and her hair drips water into her eyes.

Santana's snort brings Quinn's attention back to the woman in front of her and she sees that she has a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Oh, think it's funny do you?"

"Kinda?"

"Okay," Santana eyes Quinn cautiously as she watches her start to pull her shirt over her head, the remaining laughter dying on her lips and, seemingly, any and all blood rush to her cheeks. Distracted, she doesn't anticipate Quinn shaking her wet hair wildly, flinging drops of water everywhere and more specifically, all over her. "Hey!"

It is Quinn's turn to laugh.

Despite the fact her jeans hug her skin uncomfortably, that her arms and midriff feel the sudden chill of being exposed, and her wet hair pokes her in the eyes, she is content - here with Santana.

A moment of stillness passes over them as they calm, Santana's eyes drift over bare skin only to meet Quinn's again. Her cheeks still flushed, but the shyness no longer there. Quinn bites her lip as Santana's hooded eyes roam her face before landing on her lips.

"We should get you out of the rest of those damp clothes. I don't want you getting sick."

"That'd suck." Quinn nods, moving her hands to undo the button on her jeans only to have Santana step into her personal space to place her hands over cold ones.

"So hard," Santana adds, a small grin forming on her lips.

Quinn sucks in a breath as Santana tugs on her zip, eyes locked with hers as she begins her descent to pull them down. Her newly exposed skin still feels cool to the touch, Santana's warm hands being more than welcome as they skim down her thighs. When her jeans reach her ankles, Santana kneels at her feet, her hands settling on the back of her thighs just under her ass as she waits for her to kick them away. When she does, Santana doesn't move. Her hands trail their way back to where they were and she flashes Quinn a smile. A smile that only sharpens when she runs her thumbs under the band of Quinn's hipster briefs, pulls, and watches Quinn's face closely as it _snaps_ back in place.

The gasp that escapes Quinn spurs Santana further. Warm breath brushes just below Quinn's navel before an even warmer mouth presses against it. Eyes still locked, Santana runs her tongue the short distance between belly-button and band, her thumbs still tucked under, edging it ever further down. Quinn's breath comes harder, lost in every touch and sensation.

Santana manages to kiss and nip at every sensitive spot.

Quinn's eyes close, her right hand stroking through thick, black hair as her left rests against the wall, focusing on supple lips, slick tongue, sharp teeth. Steady, assertive hands slip down and around her thighs, pressing against that spot again but with more force, more purpose. Her eyes open and she sees her hipsters tossed aside, Santana's dark eyes intently up at her, mouth parted, eyebrow arched in question. A question Quinn won't say no to.

From left hand to forearm, Quinn rests more of her weight against the wall as her thigh comes to rest on Santana's shoulder. Nails lightly trail their way up and over her ass to rest at her hip, leaving goose bumps in their wake and almost distracting her from how close Santana's mouth is to where she aches for her.

Quinn tries to control her stuttering breath but relents when Santana presses a light, tormenting kiss just above her clit.

"Don't tease," she whispers, fingers slightly pressing deeper into black hair.

It feels like forever since the last time they did this. Touched each other in this way. Quinn's glad it's happening like this, without pretence, spontaneously, naturally. But now it's different. Now there's an emotional closeness that they didn't have before to match the physical. Call her a sap, but the thought makes her...

"...wet," Santana mumbles, her head dipping to take Quinn into her mouth, fully and hungrily.

"Fu-," Quinn chokes, grip tightening on Santana's hair.

The coldness from earlier is long forgotten, Quinn is heat embodied, her face flushed despite all of the blood in her body rushing south, teeth digging into lip, nipples uncomfortably hard against her bra. God how she's been waiting for Santana to fuck her.

With deft and equilibrium-destroying movements Santana's tongue strokes through her, brushing against her clit and drawing out a long and guttural moan.

Quinn wishes she could rock into Santana, meet her mouth for a quicker release. What makes her all the more desperate is that Santana's pace is torturously slow.

Quinn chances a look back down when she feels Santana tilt her head back, smile sharp and teasing as she looks back up at her. Quinn watches as her head turns to the thigh resting on her shoulder and licks, nips, sucks. Her smile even more dangerous as she pulls back, leaving a mark.

"San," her name tumbles from Quinn's lips. Her other leg begins to ache from the position, but it's so perfect for what she wants, what she needs.

Santana must feel the tremble of tired muscles and swiftly reclaims her position, soft lips, wet touches, shared whimpers. Quinn's leg wobbles and her grip tightens. But much to her frustration, Santana releases her just before the coil tightening inside of can spring loose.

The woman on her knees stands, eyes impossibly dark and lips quirked. With an impossibly soft, "Hey," she kisses her.

Quinn hums at the taste of herself on Santana, but she can't ignore the glaring ache that has her subconsciously leaning into Santana, pushing for some kind of pressure, friction, anything.

Santana pulls back again just when she thinks she's found purchase and it's embarrassing how much she wants to whine about it. The other woman pulling her own shirt over her head puts a halt to any complaints. Instead, Quinn leans back in to kiss Santana again, wrapping an arm around bare waist, the sensation of skin against skin making her hair stand on end.

Santana melts into her like she was always meant to be this way. Her teeth pinch Quinn's lip as her eyes flutter open to take Quinn in once more.

"Come," she whispers, slowly loosening herself from Quinn's hold to slip her hands into hers. Santana pulls Quinn into the living room, her body bathed in the warm golden glow of the lamp next to the couch. The rain still pours outside, the clouds having completely eclipsed any blue left in the sky, and the sound of droplets on the window pane mutes the low murmur of the TV that rumbles on in the background.

Quinn, following Santana, slides up behind her before she turns around, pulling her hair to the side to kiss her neck. Her hands slide down and over hips to play at the hem of Santana's shorts, letting Santana weigh heavily against her as she sends a silent thanks to the big man upstairs that Santana opted for comfort over her usual preference for style as the hem easily lifts and allows her hand to glide under to press against wet panties.

It's Santana's turn to gasp. Her eyes snap to Quinn's reflection in the window only to catch her already looking as she plants soft kisses along her jaw, fingers playing everywhere except where she needs her.

Santana's relief as Quinn pulls panties aside to drag a finger through her is short-lived, as Quinn pulls her hand away without any follow-through.

"Quinn," she whimpers.

"What?" Quinn watches the small frown on Santana's face with a smirk, a smirk that only grows as she sees hungry eyes follow her hand as she brings the finger to her lips with every intention to rile.

Payback is a bitch.

Santana turns in her arms, eyes squinted, with an unexpected pout that makes Quinn bite back a laugh.

"You're so mean." The words may have hurt if they weren't followed by a series of eager kisses. Kisses that make Quinn's stomach flip and body run hotter. "But," Santana runs her tongue along Quinn's bottom lip, "I suppose I deserved that."

Quinn feels a hand run up her back and her bra fall loose, she copies Santana's actions as she rids the other woman of hers and drops it to the ground. Firm hands push her back onto the couch, warm thighs soon either side of her own, Santana having rid herself of the final barriers between a naked her and a naked Quinn as soon as Quinn's ass hit cushion.

Lightly scratching Santana's thighs, Quinn grinds up into Santana, still sensitive from earlier and in want of some release that didn't involve reacquainting herself with her own hand. Something she'd found herself doing more often than usual after weeks of dating Santana with the good intention to go steady - in every sense of the word.

"You're so beautiful," the words come hushed against Santana's lips as she breaks the kiss they so easily fell into when Santana got on top of her.

Quinn was feeling some type of way and her heart had begun to beat faster because of it. It was a feeling she wasn't familiar with and it was an overwhelming feeling whatever it was; overwhelming in the best way possible.

Santana brought her hands up to cup her face, a gentle smile on her lips, "And?" The smile grew.

"Hilarious." Quinn smiles right back, their teeth lightly clicking as they met once more in a kiss that they both laugh in to.

Santana caresses Quinn's jaw until Quinn's hold on her thighs becomes a hold on her waist, and that hold becomes a pull, a pull that jolts Santana into wrapping her arms around her neck to grind down into her.

Quinn can feel the heat of Santana against her abdomen and it sends her mind haywire. She wants all of Santana, she wants to be _in_ Santana. So she manoeuvres her right hand free and edges her hand between them.

It's not only Santana who moans obscenely when two fingers slide into slick heat.

Quinn slowly pumps into her at first, acclimating to the position and the rhythm, but once she hits the sweet spot, once, twice, she picks up the pace. Not happy with the amount of space she has to move her hand, Quinn edges herself forward to open her own legs wider to spread Santana's. With a satisfied smirk, Quinn sends Santana's eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Oh fuck," Santana husks as she meets Quinn's relentless pace with a bounce.

The mix of moans, pants, and the wet slap of skin works Quinn into a haze of euphoric delirium where the mere thought of Santana coming makes her throb.

Only when Santana manages to come twice in quick succession does Quinn feel the ache in her left arm as it strains against Santana's weight. Santana leans further back to ride out her orgasm, her head tilted back and chest rising and falling with a light sheen of sweat.

"Not to spoil the moment," Quinn cringes, "but uh… I'm going to drop you."

"Huh?" Santana flops forward, not comprehending what's said, but fixing Quinn's problem nonetheless by pushing her deeper into the couch.

A whimper escapes Santana as Quinn slips her slick fingers out of her to rest on her thigh. After a few minutes of lying on top of her, she begins to laugh into Quinn's shoulder.

"What?" Quinn smiles through the question.

"I totally broke the no-sex-on-the-couch rule."

"Oh," she laughs too. "Maybe we should move this somewhere else."

Santana leans back with a devilish smile that makes Quinn squirm. "You're not just a pretty face after all."

Quinn playfully slaps Santana's ass to edge herself forward once more and push herself up, forcing Santana to stand as well.

"I try," Quinn shrugs, biting her lip to contain the dopey smile she's sure is on her face.

"So stupid-sexy-smart," Santana hums, pulling Quinn with her, stopping every couple of steps backwards to peck Quinn's mouth, neck, chest.

That feeling again. It washes over Quinn and makes her breath catch as she looks into those eyes she's come to know so intimately.

It stuck with her long into the night, taking her higher and making her feel lightheaded when Santana peppered her with kisses after making her legs tremor and face flush pink with ecstasy. It stuck with her into the morning, the day after, and the day after that.

Call Quinn crazy, but she's starting to think that the way she looks at Santana is the same way Santana looks at her. And if she has come to understand this feeling, it can only mean one thing.

The realisation hits her in the store whilst picking up a few things for Santana before she heads over to her apartment and her cheeks begin to ache from smiling so hard.

"Good day?" The cashier asks, matching her smile.

"Yeah," she beams, "great, actually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey hey, pretty people. I've written this story in second-person to experiment with the style (since I'm relatively new to writing), but I've had to switch it up for Quinn's POV. Hopefully it works, but if it doesn't… a lesson learned? Idk. (Also, apologies for any tense mistakes, I switched tense when editing and may have missed a few things. I'll sort them on a reread or something, lol.) And yes, I have been listening to the song 'sweetener' on repeat. And yes, it may have influenced this chapter. I hope you enjoyed. Til next time, buh-bye!


	9. That Was Unexpected

So this you and Quinn thing has been going surprisingly well. Considering how you met and your initial impression, you admit that she's grown on you. A lot. A lot, a lot. And currently, she lies on you as you watch a movie on your couch. Your cheeks flush as your mind drifts back to the night you'd finally broke your agreed celibacy.

"What are you thinking about?" She mumbles against your chest. "Your heart's beating faster."

"Is it?"

Quinn lifts her head to look into your eyes, "No, I'm lying." She tickles your side and makes you squirm and begin to laugh, "Tell me."

"Nothing!" You, much to your embarrassment, squeal. The cats in the alley heard that for sure.

Quinn pushes herself up to straddle you, making you easy pickings as you're trapped against the cushions. "You're such a bad liar."

She goes to tickle you again and you resort to begging, "No! I give, I give," she stops, hands resting on your stomach, "I was thinking about stuff."

Quinn's brow furrows, "Stuff?"

" _Stuff._ " You wiggle your eyebrows emphatically.

"You're so dumb," she says, but through a smile so you know she only sort of means it. Leaning down she plants a small kiss on your lips.

"Yeah, sort of went like that."

"Oh, did it?" Quinn's eyebrows raise as it clicks.

"Uh-huh," you lift your hips and she wobbles, making you both laugh. "What do you say to a little tête-à-tête at a favourite restaurant of mine?"

"A tête-à-tête?" She hums, kissing your exposed collarbone, "Sounds divine."

"Well stop that, because I'm hungry now," you say with little conviction.

"Okay," she replies against your neck, "one more." You think she's going to kiss your lips but she goes straight for your nose and you scrunch your face.

"Nose? Really?"

"Really," she says as she climbs off of you and turns the TV off.

You get up too, throwing on a light jacket and slipping into your shoes. Quinn takes a little longer, having lost her other shoe.

"It's around here somewhere," she mutters under her breath.

Twirling your keys around your finger you laugh as you focus on the 'Shake It Off' one that Quinn had gotten you for your new set.

"Where'd you even get this? I swear this song is like, years old."

"It's from my collection of Swift memorabilia," Quinn deadpans.

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm being serious."

"Stop. I'm not stupid."

"I'm not kidding!" Quinn finally laughs. "I was a fan, what can I say?"

"I don't think you can be my girlfriend anymore." You cross your arms and try to suppress your smile.

"What?" Fuck did you just say-. "You're ridiculous," Quinn laughs.

She must've missed it. Your heart pounds but you remain outwardly composed. Act natural, girl.

"No, it's not. Firstly, I now know the gift is second-hand!" You pretend to be disgusted and Quinn's cheeks go pink as she covers her mouth to rein in her laughter. "And second of all, _'was'_ a fan my ass. Admit it, you're still a massive fan and you've got all the merch hidden under your bed. Or behind that door in your apartment that I've never seen behind."

"Oh my god, shut up," Quinn cackles. "That's my airing cupboard and you know it. You've seen me pull towels out of it before."

"You're sorely mistaken," your tone is serious, but your mouth twitches. "I've never seen anything like that. What else have you been hiding? Huh?"

"Nothing, I swear it!" Quinn crosses her heart, playing along with your goofy ass.

"Hmm," you squint, "I've got my eye on you. No funny business."

"God forbid."

Arms linked, you walk into the restaurant and wait to be seated. Quinn smells really good, you lean into her arm to smell her.

"What is that?"

"What?"

"What are you wearing?"

"I don't remember its name, I can check," she attempts to untangle herself to pull out her phone.

"No, it's fine," you say, holding her arm tighter, "you just smell good. I like it. Whatever it is."

"Santana!" Your heart stops. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. "Santana! Over here! And who's that? Quinn?"

It's your dad. It's your fucking dad. Oh fuck. Please world, swallow me whole, you pray.

Of course this would happen. Why hadn't he told you he was in the city? As if that would matter! You're still banging his ex-fiancée, dumbass.

You don't realise it, but you're cutting off Quinn's circulation and she's so lovely she doesn't even ask you to let up or shake you off.

Oh no, he's coming over.

You can't bring yourself to speak, you look up at Quinn who has been as calm as anything. Like this happens every day.

"How are you, ladies? I didn't expect to see you here," his eyes bounce between you both, his smile a little tight but maybe he got work done? Argh, you don't know! You don't know.

"Hi," Quinn says, voice steady and cool. "We're just getting something to eat."

"Oh, that's nice. I didn't realise you two," he flicks his finger between you both, "were friends."

"Oh, we're friends alright."

"Quinn," you suddenly find you voice as you reprimand her. "Hey, Dad. Yeah, Quinn and I are close."

"That's nice, sweetheart," he pulls at his lapel as he shuffles uncomfortably.

Damn, now you're starting to wonder what went down to have your dad's tail between his legs. Actually, scrap that. You could take a guess. A couple of guesses in fact.

This is so weird. It feels like you've been sucked into another universe or something wild like that. If you're lucky you might be dreaming. Would it be weird to ask Quinn to pinch you right now?

"You moved back to the city, Quinn?" Your dad asks to fill the silence, though you can tell he'd rather not ask anything at all. "I'm glad you two kept in touch. I-"

"Santana's my girlfriend," Quinn states as though she's pointing out the weather, cutting through his attempt at small talk.

Your eyes bug out of your head as your head swivels to look at her, but her eyes are firmly set on shooting daggers at your dad. Slowly, you look back at him and he looks a little pale.

"Oh," is all he says, pulling out a napkin to dab the sweat on his forehead.

A beat passes.

"Well, I suppose you could do worse."

The words make your mouth drop open.

Wait a minute.

Who's he talking to? Wait, you don't need to know the answer to that.

Maybe you should move things along. "I never thought to call," you begin, apology on your lips.

"No, no," he holds up a hand. "I didn't call either. We have a lot to catch up on," his tone lifts and you can see him noticeably relax as he meets your gaze. You think he might be avoiding somebody's on your left. Just a hunch. "We should arrange something soon," his eyes flick over to Quinn then back to you, "I'll leave you two to it. Enjoy your meals. Love you, darling." He steps forward a pecks you on the cheek before sliding passed you both to exit the restaurant, taking a redhead's arm as he hits the pavement outside.

"Woah," you can't help but laugh at the absurdity. "What the fuck?"

Quinn's body softens considerably, you hadn't realised how tightly she'd wound herself. "That was interesting."

"You do realise that if we get married it will be a million times worse."

Quinn's burst of laughter makes you laugh too, the situation feels like it happened outside the realm of reality. If you don't laugh you might cry.

"If you'd like to follow me," the waiter says as he leads you to a table.

Quinn pulls a chair out for you and you have to admit, it makes her hotter. Chivalry is a real power, no wonder people go crazy for it. "Thank you," you smile.

"You're very welcome."

"That was so crazy. I'm sorry I didn't clear it up with him before, it just didn't cross my mind." And you know, you weren't exactly sure how long this was going to last in the beginning. But now?

"Honestly, it's fine. I mean I get it, it's not your run-of-the-mill situation," Quinn says casually, reading over the menu. "It's not like I was the love of his life. I know he wasn't mine," her eyes briefly meet yours and your heart skips a beat, "so, I don't know. He seemed okay with it. And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't care." Her lips thin into a line as she looks back at you, "Sorry, he's your dad. I'm being rude."

"No, you're not," you watch her carefully, "it's fine. Honestly, I don't know if I'd care all that much either," you pull a face, "is that bad?" You laugh.

"Probably," she joins you. "I'd still love you though."

You blink.

"Huh?" Did you hear that right?

Quinn glances back up from reading the menu, "Huh?" she repeats.

Did she realise what she'd said? And earlier, she'd said girlfriend too. You were too caught up in the moment to properly absorb it then, but now you think back on it she totally did.

"You okay?" She asks, a small frown of concern tugging at her lips.

"Yeah," you say a little breathlessly.

"Okay," she says softly and it's so simple and ugh, you just want to reach over the table and kiss her.

"Quinn," you say.

"Yes?"

"You're my girlfriend," you say without any hesitation.

Quinn's confused smile makes you second guess yourself. "I know?"

Wait… what?

"You know?"

"Yeah, I mean we've been dating for weeks."

"We have?"

Quinn's laugh is a little forced, panic in her eyes, "I think so."

"Shit," you sit back in your seat and reflect on your relationship since those first couple of dates and oh, oh yeah, okay, you see where she's coming from. "We totally are."

"Did you think we weren't?"

"We just never said it out loud, except for today I guess," you chuckle.

"Just today? San," she takes your hand, "you've definitely called me your girlfriend before today. That's why I thought we were, I thought you were too cool for the whole conversation."

"I have?" Have you been sleepwalking through life?

"Yeah, like two days ago when we were at the store and that guy was hitting on me and you came over all," she squares her shoulders and for some reason deepens her voice, "'that's my girlfriend, dude'."

"I do not sound like that," you cross your arms as you try to think back, "Fuck, I did say that. How'd I not realise?"

Quinn shrugs.

"Here I was panicking over saying it earlier, shitting myself as to whether I had a girlfriend or not. Low and behold, I've had one this whole time!"

You suppose the label really didn't change much, you really did have a girlfriend this whole time. You sometimes wonder about yourself.

"I hope you're not too disappointed."

You scoff, "Yeah, right," you pull one of Quinn's hands to your side of the table so you can stroke your fingers along her palm. "I've scored big time."

Quinn dips her head all bashful and cute, you really could reach across this table.

"Can I take your orders?" The waiter returns to your table, momentarily distracting you.

"Is it okay if we just have a sec?" You say with all your pearly whites, eyelashes batting.

He blushes, "Of course, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Works like a charm," you brag when he's out of earshot.

"So cocky."

"As I have the right to be," you smirk.

"You're too much," she says, resting her chin in her other hand to hide her smile.

"You love it," you joke, as you have so many times before.

"I do," she responds, still smiling but eyes softening. Her response is the same as it always is, but this time it's different. Maybe you didn't mishear after all.

Later that night, you lay together, bare skin on bare skin. And you're happily in her arms as she strokes her fingers along your back.

You feel yourself being lulled to sleep, the room already cast in darkness, the only light is from the moon and that's never stopped you from slipping into slumber before.

"I'm so happy I met you, San," Quinn whispers into the dark.

It rouses you a little and you tilt your head up as though that'd help you to be able to see her. All you see are shadows and patches of pale moonlight.

"I'm so happy I met you too," you tell her. Not because it's what she want to hear, but because it's the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A short but sweet one. And here's a bonus text exchange for you…  
>   
>  _S: B..  
>   
>  B: what!?!?!  
>   
> S: I saw my dad.. when I was out on a date w Quinn!!!!! 💀  
>   
> B: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 😭😭  
>   
> S: I know I was like *insert lisa simpson staring meme*  
>   
> B: omggg 😱 call me rn!!_


	10. New Beginnings

"How free would you say you are this weekend?"

"As free as you want me to be," you reply, putting the dry dishes back into the kitchen cupboard.

"That's music to my ears because I have some plans if you want in."

Turning on your heel to face your girlfriend, you tilt your head to the side as you take her in. She's watching from behind the counter, her elbows resting on its surface and chin resting in her hands. Her eyes follow you as you slowly make your way around to stop in front of her, a soft smile spreading across her face as you do.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you whisper, "I'm in," against her lips.

"Good," she replies, pressing her lips to yours once more. "Pack your bags, we're up early in the morning."

Your eyebrows rise in question, "Where are we going?"

"My family has a house in the Berkshires, some of us were planning a get-together and I don't think I could face the prospect of going alone."

"The Berkshires?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, she has shmoney."

She rolls her eyes playfully, "You're goofy."

You wouldn't go as far as that, but you shrug in acceptance anyway. "I can't help it," you grin, "who's 'us'?"

"Family. Well, I say family, but it'll only be my sister and her husband. There's also my best friend from college and her boyfriend, they're both super sweet. They'll love you."

"Didn't fancy fifth wheeling?"

"As appealing as it sounds, not really. No. So you'll come?"

"Of course. Do they know about you? About us?"

Quinn scrunches her face and that's all the answer you need. You give her a squeeze and she sighs. "I'm sure they won't mind. And if they do…"

"If they do I'll kick their asses."

Her body vibrates against yours as she laughs, "That'd be quite the sight. But no, no. It'll be fine. She probably won't even care, honestly."

"Damn, no drama after all?" You joke.

"No, 'fraid not..."

Oh, how naïve you both are.

The day so far has been fun. Like surprisingly so considering you just travelled for hours. But Quinn has a way of motivating you when you don't want to get out of bed at the crack of dawn and her breakfasts are to die for. Plus, she packs really good travel snacks.

And when Quinn's sister, Frannie, opens up the old-ass doors to the quaint, little manor of the Fabray's with a big smile on her face your good feeling only grows.

"Hi," Frannie greets you with a hug that surprises you. You didn't take Quinn's family for huggers for some reason. Her smile is so alike Quinn's it's kind of freaky, but they don't look all that similar. Frannie's eyes being an unmistakable blue and hair a shade darker compared to Quinn's golden blonde - which you assume is natural, though you think you'd be hard pressed to get her to admit otherwise.

Her husband soon appears behind her, armed with a charming smile of his own, and offers to help bring in your bags. You're no fool. Who are you to turn down a perfectly good pair of hands? And he looks like a buff dude, it won't do him any harm.

Consider him in your good graces.

It certainly saves you lugging them upstairs, freeing you up to take in the palace you'll be staying in without breaking a sweat. It's impressive. The bold colours, oak panelling, and grandeur scream your mother. She'd honestly love this place with its old-money style and Tudor architecture; she always preferred the sticks to the city. Not that you can blame her, it certainly has its charm.

Quinn is caught in conversation with her sister as you follow them to the kitchen where two new faces await you.

You're delightfully surprised by Quinn's sudden excitement as she rushes up to the woman and pulls her into a hug.

"Tina!"

"Quinn!"

"It's been too long," Quinn pulls back to hold Tina at arm's length, "you look amazing. The blonde really suits you."

"You're telling me! And thanks," she twirls a strand around her finger, "I like it too."

"Me three," the man adds, his smile creasing the corners of his eyes as he watches the two women hug again.

Tina rolls her eyes playfully before pushing his shoulder.

As if remembering you still need to be introduced, Quinn whips around with a nervous smile and holds out her hand for you to join her. You hope your palms aren't all clammy and gross.

You're a little nervous, okay.

"This is Santana," she says with pride in her voice that has you inching into bashful.

"This is _Santana_ ," Tina repeats, a gleam in her eye. "Well, Santana, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tina and this," she pulls the man beside her closer by looping her arm through his, "is my boyfriend, Mike."

"Hi," he says with a small wave of his hand.

"Hey," you reply, catching Quinn beaming at you out of the corner of your eye. As the group falls into casual conversation, Frannie sets to pouring you all refreshments. She is proving to be quite the hostess. She tells a few jokes and makes an effort to include you in the conversation as easily as she might have an old friend. And as you settle into the flow of things you look back to see that Quinn's attention has remained mostly on you. "Stop," you whisper out of the side of your mouth, feeling the heat already rising to your cheeks.

Quinn's smile widens as she leans ever so slightly against you as you rest against the kitchen island, her hand coming to rest lightly against the small of your back. You will that your blush won't deepen at the small gesture, but there was no helping the way your skin prickles with heat whenever she touches you.

"I've set you up in your old room," Frannie's husband says as he enters the kitchen.

"Thank, Jay," Quinn smiles, much more innocently, in his direction, slyly running her hand from your back to your fingers so that she can take your hand in hers. Returning her gaze to yours she asks, "Shall we unpack?"

From the look in her eye, you might have thought she'd asked something else.

"Sure," you agree, briefly returning your attention to the others sat around the kitchen, "nice to meet you all," before being led out of the kitchen by Quinn.

Her pace increases significantly once out of the eye-shot of everybody else and you find yourself giggling at her excitement as she drags you upstairs, almost tripping over the steps as she does.

"What's the rush?" You joke.

Her melodic laugh is the only reply you get.

Coming to a stop outside of a grand, white door she pauses, shooting a small smile over her shoulder.

"This," she slowly turns the doorknob and pushes it open, "is my room." The light pinks, yellows and whites are set aglow by the sun streaming through tall windows.

"I like it," you say as you brush behind her to run your hand along the sheets of her four-poster bed.

She wanders around the other side of the bed to pick up a picture frame, laughing under her breath before holding it towards you to look at. In it you see a baby Quinn sitting on her sister's shoulders, tongue sticking out and hair pointed in every direction. You feel yourself begin to smile at the scrunched up face in the picture, you hadn't pegged Quinn as much of a menace growing up, but the picture told a different story. It was sweet.

"Look at you," you tap the glass before looking back up at her, "you used to be such a cutie. What happened?"

"Yeah, well, we can't all be perfect like you."

"Oh man," you laugh, "way to make me feel bad."

You watch in delight as her lips twitch with a smile as she pulls one of your bags onto the bed next to you.

"You'll just have to make it up to me."

"Oh yeah?" You ask, standing to put the picture back in its spot before returning to stand next to her.

"Ye- wait. What's this?" Quinn's hands stop rummaging around the bag you'd packed, her features settling into realisation as she turns her head to look at you.

"I thought we could you know, try some things out."

"But we've used this before."

For a moment your eyes fall out of focus as very fond memories tempt you away from the present.

"Well, you have on me. But I was thinking that maybe I could try it… on you," your words are edged with trepidation. You and Quinn had been pretty open to experimenting with new things and naturally, that led to Quinn fucking your brains out with a strap-on and knowing how good that felt you've been letting your mind wander. Wander into territory where you…

"Oh," her eyes flick between yours.

"If you'd be into that."

"I'd be into that," came the surprisingly quick reply. She removes her hands from the bag to turn to you fully, "I've also been meaning to do something now that we're here. Alone."

Your heart begins to thud in your chest, "What's that?"

She edges closer, so close that her body is fully pressed against yours, forcing you to find your bearings before you fall on your ass.

Nudging her forehead against yours, she captures your mouth in that brief second your head tilts upwards, her lithe fingers winding themselves into your hair and lightly scratching against your scalp. The soft moan that escapes you is involuntary; the tightening of your grip on her hips is not.

You know by the way the kiss deepens that this is only heading in one direction and you don't want to be that couple, the one that skulks off and misses out on everything because they couldn't keep it in their pants. Although... Quinn in these form-fitting jeans makes it damn difficult.

Somehow you find the will to break away, resting your forehead against hers once more.

"We should finish unpacking."

"Okay, we can do that instead." She doesn't move away. Neither do you.

"Ugh, you make this so hard."

"What?" She laughs.

Pulling even further back, you hold her at arm's length, watching her face before nodding to yourself. Later. Leave that until later.

And as a woman of your word, that is what you do.

"So Quinn was like 'fuck it'," Tina slurs, giggling into her glass, "and she jumped the fence. We were all just, just in awe and you know, shitting ourselves because we thought we were going to get caught. Which makes me think of another story," she says with a snort. "A camping trip with too many pomegranates… But no. No, sorry. Back to this," she tips her glass and finishes up the remaining dregs. "She jumps and pretty much clears it, but then we hear this rip."

Your eyes sparkle with mirth as you watch Quinn hide behind her hands in embarrassment, her own laughter spilling through her fingers.

"Tina," she begs.

"No, Quinn. It's too good. So we hear this rip and hear Q scream on the other side of the fence. It was dark so we couldn't really tell what had happened until we heard her shouting us." Tina picked up a can out of the cooler and held it to her flushed cheek. "We all rushed over and saw her on the grass, bare ass in the air and-"

"My ass was not bare!" Quinn protests, turning to you with a hand to your thigh, "It wasn't I swear."

Tina throws Quinn a disapproving look, "As I was saying… her ass was _bare_ , her skirt still hanging from the fence."

"Oh, so that's what fucked up my favourite skirt?" Frannie suddenly pipes up, giving you a case of whiplash as you turn to watch her slam her glass down on the end table beside her. You wince at the force as she scoots to the edge of her seat to stare Quinn down. "You said that bitch in your dorm cut it up!"

"That wasn't the same skirt," uncertainty passes over Quinn's features.

"What did the skirt look like, Tina?"

Tina's eyes widen as Frannie's stare turns on her, you're betting she wasn't expecting an interrogation when she planned to embarrass Quinn.

"It was bl-" you spot Quinn subtly shaking her head in her best friend's direction, "-orange."

Frannie's eyes narrow, "Blorange?"

"Yes?"

"It was blue wasn't it? About mid-thigh length?"

Tina nods with a cringe.

"Tina!" Quinn exclaims.

"I knew it!" Frannie points at Quinn as she stands. "Tommy bought me that skirt!"

"Tommy?" Jay suddenly asks.

There's a pause where both sisters glance in his direction, only to turn back to each other to finish what they'd started.

"What were you even doing?"

"We just wanted to go for a swim? That's not a crime."

"I mean we were trespassing…" Tina adds, quickly reaching out for Mike's drink to stop herself from talking.

"Exactly. And trespassing in _my_ clothes no less."

Your eyebrows have sat firmly high on your forehead throughout the whole ordeal, you're no stranger to family drama, especially that of the sibling nature. You can't count the amount of times your mom and tía have fallen out over the Christmas turkey.

"God Frannie, it was years ago. Get over it." Quinn bites back, a hint of red climbing up her neck.

Frannie scoffs and storms past you all, straight out of the door.

Taking a sip from your drink you pass your gaze over every face in the room, stopping on Mike as you catch eyes. He blows out his cheeks and makes you stifle a laugh so you don't choke.

"And that's why I never let you borrow any of my clothes!" Frannie screams from down the hall.

You're sat, wide-eyed and tipsy as you watch Quinn scramble to her feet to chase after her sister.

As soon as she's out the door the rest of you sit in an awkward silence.

"Thanks, Tina." You say dryly and it's enough to break the spell and have you all laughing again, pouring more drinks, and egging Tina on to do a cartwheel she's convinced she can absolutely still do.

About thirty minutes later, or at least from what you can gather from your buzzed state, Frannie comes traipsing back into the room with a smug grin on her face. Quinn follows and gives you a small eye roll as she comes over to sit with you.

"Do I want to know?"

"I gave her my favourite pair of shoes as penance for my past crimes."

"My very own reformee."

Quinn leans into you as she mourns the loss of her shoes and you wrap your arm around her to softly pat her head.

"Thanks," she groans and you let out a soft laugh.

Her sombre mood soon lifts when you get into party games and you're even more excited than she is because this is your chance to show off. Not to brag, but you're a beast when it comes to anything even remotely competitive. If you weren't already a little fuzzy around the edges you might've felt a little more self-conscious to whip the asses of these people you just met today. And with Quinn gassing you up it's almost impossible.

"We got this," Quinn says as she huddles you in close. You suspect the other couples are doing much the same but with less intensity.

"We got this," you repeat.

"They're going down."

"Hell yeah they are."

"They're going to wish they were never born."

"Quinn, we can hear you," Tina says from across the room.

"Right. Good talk," she breaks away, lightly tapping you on the ass.

Bouncing on the balls of your feet you listen as Jay explains the rules, his hand gestures not really helping the explaining but you appreciate the intention.

A creation of his own devising is laid out on the back lawn and around the pool, a relay race and obstacle course combo you're sure he picked up from Survivor. Quinn eagerly volunteers herself to go first out of the two of you and you're kind of turned on by her no-nonsense approach. It definitely explains the crush you had on your cheer captain back in college.

You can't help but admire the flex of her calves as she primes herself to set off at a sprint. It's only Jay's countdown that manages to pull you back into the game.

"Two… one... Go!"

Quinn reaches the pole she's supposed to spin around first, mostly due to Frannie falling into Mike in the first few steps, the determination with which she whips out the full ten rotations is almost enough to have you laughing much like Tina is.

"You got this!" You whoop, clapping when she hurdles the mountain of pillows on the grass. But Mike is on her tail and you hear her yelp when he catches up.

"Here," Tina grabs your attention and hands you a shot. Jay has one too and they both tip their glasses to clink yours in a "Cheers." Tina smiles at you and nods in the other direction.

Quinn and Mike are still ahead, but Frannie isn't giving up. They're all nearing you and then you remember, oh yeah, you're in this.

"Go, go, go!" Quinn yells through a laugh as Frannie hip checks her as they both reach you, Mike slipping ahead to tap Tina on the head.

And you're off!

That shot was a bad idea. You realise that now. The hot burn in your stomach makes you laugh despite yourself. "You're in danger, girl," you think to yourself as you grab the pole from where it lays on the grass. The slight lurch in your stomach as you bend down telling you everything you need to know.

Just focus on the pole, yeah the pole. Oh god. Oh no. Okay, the grass.

"You got it, San!"

Yeah you got it. Only six, five, four more times. You see out of the corner of your eye that Tina has face-planted the grass but you daren't laugh in case you hurl. You keep going, and finally. You stop.

But the world doesn't.

You're leaning over before you know it and are about to hit the ground when you find your bearing.

Shaking off the dizziness, you take a few tentative steps in the right direction, only to speed up when you see Jay racing ahead. Jay catches the tip of the mountain of pillows and goes flying. This is your chance. You jump ahead and resist the urge to gloat.

This is in the bag.

Then you hear Tina scream and a splash follow.

"That's cheating!" Quinn shouts.

"Hey!" you hear Mike yell as well.

With a glance over your shoulder, you see Jay gaining on you with an evil little smirk on his face.

Your eyes widen and you pump your legs like you've never done so before. You hear him just behind you and you scream as you feel his beefy arms wrap around your midsection as he lifts you off the ground with ease. And just as easily, he tosses you into the pool like an inflatable, your wide open mouth mid-scream being a mistake in hindsight.

Water rushes up your nose and into your mouth as you plunge into the pool.

You choke and splutter as you emerge to see Jay being grappled by both Mike and Quinn as they pull him to the water's edge, his pleas ignored and struggle futile as they both manage to push him in.

Wiping water from your eyes you swim to the pool's edge to throw your wet top onto the grass.

Quinn meets you there and greets you with a smile, "We totally had that."

You laugh, "Totally." Pulling yourself closer you put your forearms on the edge to rest your chin on your arms, the steam from the pool creating a slight mist as the evening cools and the sky continues to darken.

Quinn lies opposite you so that your faces are level, your stare-off only interrupted by Mike and Frannie jumping into the pool as well.

"They like you."

"Duh," you joke, although hearing her say it is nice. Nobody ever wants to make a bad impression, especially when the people you're making an impression on are close to one of the most important people in your life. "I'm glad," you finally say, smile soft. "You getting in?" You ask, pushing away from the wall, swimming backwards as you grin, "The water's lovely."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at you as she sits, "I'm sure it is." Her gaze drifts to the others who are now sharing a bottle of wine. Where that bottle came from is a mystery to you both, but you don't question it.

"Well?"

She stands and you watch attentively as she undoes the button of those, oh so amazing, jeans and wiggles her way out of them to kick them further away from the pool. And instead of jumping in, she makes a show of taking her time, walking back to the edge and slowly lowering herself into the water. Her eyes never leaving yours all the while.

As soon as her chin reaches the water you expect her to stop, but she doesn't, she closes her eyes and continues to slip under. You watch the blur of her body travelling closer to yours from underwater, only to resurface just before you, her hair slicked back, droplets running down her face into her eyes and off her lips as she smiles.

Wrapping your arms around her shoulders, you feel her do the same around your waist.

"Nice, huh?"

She blinks hard as another droplet drops into her vision, you bring a hand back around to wipe her face. Her eyes meeting yours again after the first few seconds, but you leave your hand resting there as you lightly rub your thumb along her cheekbone.

"Pretty nice."

A wall of water breaks over you, breaking you apart and making you gasp in shock. Mike's laughter gives away his guilt, he tries to stop himself but it's not until Quinn shoots him a glare does her suddenly dunk under the water to hide.

"He's not getting away that easily," she mutters, but before she leaves to get payback she kisses you on the cheek.

"My hero," you call after her, catching her chuckle just before she dips under as well.

Swimming towards the other girls you find them sat on the pool's edge, feet in the water, bottle passed between them. You easily join as they offer you a swig. You politely decline, still not sure if that shot will come back to bite you on the ass or not, and pull yourself up to sit next to them.

Leaning back on your hands you watch from your perch on the edge as Quinn jumps on Mike's back and falls backwards to pull them both under, Jay's role as referee suiting him as he yells incomprehensibly, yet somehow helpfully, at them.

"Quinn's been really happy lately." Frannie comments, drawing your attention back to their conversation. "And I think you definitely play a part, Santana."

You feel a blush creeping across your cheeks and you dip your chin towards your chest. "I hope so."

"Oh yeah, no doubt," Tina adds, with a gentle nudge of her shoulder and smile.

"Well she makes me happy too," you confess, although it's not exactly the biggest secret ever. You can picture Brittany's eye roll.

As though she can feel her ears burning, Quinn glances in your direction, eyebrows raised in question. You nod in her direction that you're good and when she smiles you wink in her direction, the twitch in her brow making your own smile appear.

Oh Quinn Fabray, you have no idea what's coming your way.

Drying off inside, you all lounge around the couches lost in your own smaller conversations. The chaos from earlier had died down into the relaxed atmosphere of hanging out with friends, and even though they're new to you, you don't feel the need to keep up with everything and instead enjoy the moment.

Quinn's slightly damp head rests in your lap as you play with her hair, her eyelids fluttering every now and then as she fights off sleep. You tickle under, then over, her cheeks, jaw and neck when they finally fall closed. Her smile tells you she's still very much awake, but she's unable to keep them open any longer.

Running a fingertip down her nose you bop her on its tip and you feel her body shake as she laughs softly.

"Are you sleepy?"

"Yuh-huh."

"That's okay," you purposely add a little coyness to your voice.

Quinn's brow scrunches, "Why?"

"Just y'know…" you trade your innocent touches for bolder ones as you now run your fingers along her collarbone.

She squints open an eye, a lot more awake than five seconds ago. "What?"

"I thought we could try that," you take a short look to see if anyone might overhear, "thing."

"San, what are you even talking about?"

You suppress an eye roll. You'll forgive her this once because in all fairness she was just about to fall asleep, but c'mon.

Leaning closer you whisper, "That thing where I fuck you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_."

She sits up and you share a look, "Let's go to bed."

With brief goodnights and light feet, you both make your way to Quinn's bedroom. Over the threshold you share a few heated kisses but you're eager to get the show on the road so you slip into the en suite where the lighting is better and the mirror is… helpful.

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah, just," you finishing adjusting the last strap and look head on into the mirror, "one sec."

Don't do, Santana. Don't. You bite your lip as you look at yourself, strapped to the gods, and will yourself not to do it.

Ah, fuck it.

You can't resist wiggling your hips a little to make it bounce, clapping a hand over your mouth to stop your giggle.

"San, I swear to god if you're not out here in five seconds-"

Strutting to the door you lean around the frame, "You called?"

Quinn is already sat on the bed, leant back on her hands, legs crossed as they bounce off the edge. The only thing between her and you are the few steps from where you stand and the satin robe that hangs off her shoulders.

"C'mere."

Flipping the en suite's switch darkens the room once more; the only light comes from the dimmed bedside lamps and moonlight streaming through the windows.

You step into the bedroom and take your time as you saunter your way over to a waiting Quinn. You want her to ache for you. To want you so badly it feels like need.

She uncrosses her legs as you meet her at the edge of the bed, her bare thighs either side of yours.

Her breath hitches as you stroke along their length, inching your fingers further inward the higher they climb, making her shift where she sits. But you don't touch her, not yet. You rest your hands on her upper thighs as you lean in to ghost your lips against hers, enjoying the warmth before closing the gap and taking her mouth with yours.

She quickly uses one of her hands to pull you closer by your neck and you have to steady yourself by putting your own either side of her on the bed.

The weight on your neck disappears and you don't know where to until you feel a tug on the appendage between you. Your eyes shoot up to meet Quinn's, her eyes hooded and breathing shallow.

Your movements encourage her to climb back onto the bed and as she does, her loose robe falls open along with her legs, exposing how wet she already is.

A tingle of anticipation rushes straight to where you burn the hottest, making the ache between your legs all that more obvious to you.

But before you rush into this you want to make sure you don't hurt her, you can see just how wet she is but a little lube never hurt anybody. And so you reach for the bottle to your right and go to squeeze some on to your hands only to have Quinn's sudden grip on your wrist stop you.

"Let me," she husks and you barely hold back a moan.

She works her wrist rhythmically, her eyes never leaving your face as bite back being too loud. It's not as though you can feel it, but the slight friction the action creates and the eroticism of the act is enough to have you going crazy.

"You don't need to be quiet," Quinn tugs a little harder, "they can't hear you."

You sigh out a moan, hands caressing Quinn's face and neck, slipping down to tease at her nipples as you let her have her way. When you pinch one of them she gasps and releases you, falling back onto the bed so that you can lean over her and take the other into your mouth.

You tease her until her hips lift of the bed, but you push them down to lean back up to kiss her, draw it out, drink her in. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, pouty lips. As you take it into your hand and position it just where she wants it you pause, watching as she waits, as she begs you with her eyes. But you want her to say it.

"What do you want?"

"You," she gasps again as you rub the head through her wetness to rub against her clit.

"How badly?"

"San," she whines.

"How badly?" You repeat.

"So bad."

The words are enough to ease off the teasing.

You steadily slide into her, attentive to every expression and wary of any discomfort. As she takes its whole length she lets out a deep, guttural moan.

"Oh fuck," she says as the front of your thighs press against the back of hers.

"Is that okay?" You gently ask as you brush some of her hair out of her face.

She opens her eyes again, bottom lip between her teeth as she nods.

With the affirmative you lift your hips and pull back, only to rock into her once more, eliciting a similarly dizzying response. As you continue to gain your footing, your rocking becomes rhythmic, more natural. The sweat between you builds and Quinn's moans become shorter, more frequent as she builds towards her high.

"Harder," she pants as she uses her hands to hold her thighs. You reach forward to hold the headboard to put more weight behind your thrusts.

For a brief moment you glance to your right and see the picture family picture from earlier stood on one of the bedside tables. A flash of panic causes you to reach over and place it facedown.

Better.

"Oh my- Right there." Quinn drops her hands to hold the headboard too. The mixture of moans and the slap of her thighs on yours make you unbelievably wet. You can feel how it drips down your thighs, making it almost impossible to concentrate. "I'm gonna- Oh fuck, oh fu-" Quinn's hips jerk upward as her thighs tense around you, shaking slightly as she rides out her climax. You don't pull out until she pushes you away with a weak laugh.

Falling to lay beside her, you take a breath as she recovers, slipping off the harness as tossing over the side of the bed as you do.

She draws your attention as she manoeuvres the robe off and tosses that off the bed too, turning to meet your eyes after she does.

In one fluid motion she turns to straddle your thigh so that one of hers is nestled between yours. She smirks when you push down onto it, eager for some relief.

You lift yours to even the score.

She whimpers and grinds down onto you, capturing your mouth with a kiss as she sinks her body into yours.

You've never felt so utterly connected with another person before. As her tongue presses into yours and her thigh grinds up into you you'd be remiss not to reciprocate.

The rest of the night is spent giving and receiving with curling toes, quivering thighs, orgasms that make you unable to think one coherent thought. The small whispers of adoration, of reverence, of lust leave your lips throughout but it's the beauty of words unuttered that make your head spin. The words unuttered because you just can't manage to make any sound that isn't a whimper, moan or hiss.

Although one thought does prevail when the night winds down and you're both spent and content, lying bare on top another.

The steady beat of her heart lies beneath your ear, grounding you to this moment shared with the woman you know you do not want to live without.

With light touches, you walk your fingers across her ribcage, occasionally spelling out random letters that pop into your head, mostly 'L's, 'V's and 'E's funnily enough.

You continue to do so until she softly brings her hand to rest on top of yours, stopping you altogether. When you tilt your head up to look at her you're taken aback by the look on her face.

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Of course. There's no place I'd rather be."

She drops her head back down on to the bed for a second before she speaks again.

"And you know that I love you, right?" Her voice is somehow quieter.

Another small silence passes as you take in what you've already known deep down.

"Yeah," because you do. Your heart has never felt so full. Planting a small kiss on the closest part of her to your mouth you say, "I love you too."

You hear her let out a breath and you chuckle at her response.

"What?" She says. You can hear her smile.

"We love each other."

She lifts her head again to look at you and you lean up to meet her lips, although you're both smiling too hard for it to be any good. But you don't care.

The next morning you're down in the kitchen before Quinn. You didn't want to wake her so you thought you'd make yourself useful and prep some breakfast before she did.

You don't think you've stopped smiling since you've woken up.

If the other people in your life could see you now you're sure they'd be concerned. But you can't help it. You're just so… happy.

"Good morning," Tina greets as she strolls into the kitchen, a small smile on her face.

"Hey," you chirp.

"You're in a good mood for such an early hour."

You shrug, pursing your lips to reign in the cheesy grin you know just wants to ruin your rep. "Quinn's bed is really comfortable. I haven't had such a good sleep in ages."

"Right," Tina replies, but before she can say anymore Quinn makes an appearance and no word of a lie. You get butterflies. You've been together for a while now and you still get them. It's kind of sickening how in love you actually are. And now that you can admit it to yourself nobody is safe.

"Hey," her face immediately brightens as she sees you and you shoot her a smirk as you watch her slowly make her way over to you both.

"Do you want some?" You hold out a slice of apple and she nods, accepting the piece from your fingers after a moment of staring at you.

"Thanks," she says quietly, turning to watch Tina make coffee. Although you catch her staring your way multiple times throughout breakfast, dirty thought swimming about her eyes and with a look that sends a tingle right between your thighs.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Tina asks.

"Not too sure, but I was hoping to take San out for a picnic."

"You were?"

"Yeah," she shrugs casually, "I'll show you where all the bodies are buried."

You place a hand over your heart, "You're so sweet."

"Just for you," she smiles as she reaches over to steal another slice of apple.

Around midday you're starting to think Quinn might've been telling the truth as you follow her through the long grass leading into a wooded area. As you pass under the shaded area under the trees, the grass no longer tickles your legs and the sun no longer bakes your head.

"Not too much further," Quinn calls behind her, lugging the picnic bag with her.

You got the easy job of carrying the wine and blanket whilst Quinn navigates her way to your mystery destination. For the first time since you've known each other, she wears a sundress, and comfortably too. She's like a walking perfume advert as she walks through the beams of sunshine breaking through the trees, surrounded by all things nature and beauty. Or maybe a Disney princess works better. All she needs is a flock of birds to swoop in and take that picnic bag off her hands.

"Okay," she turns to you, "we're here," she gestures for you to lead the way.

Continuing past her you see that the trees break out onto a grassy bank where a small stream passes through.

"It's peaceful here," Quinn begins as she lays the bag at the base of the tree closest to the bank, "that's why I like it so much."

"You come here a lot?" You ask as she comes to help you lay out the blanket.

"I used to. We used to spend our summers here as kids and this was my favourite place to hide."

"Hide?"

"Yeah, to read mostly and listen to the water, it helped me clear my head. Really exciting things like that," she eventually jokes.

"That sounds nice. I don't think I've ever had a place like that, especially not at beautiful as this. No wonder I was such a terror growing up," you laugh.

She joins in on your laughter as she fetches the bag. "I'm sure you weren't that bad."

"Oh, I had my moments."

"Didn't we all?" she says with a cheeky smile as she sits down to join you. "Here," she pours you a glass and hands it to you. "Any words?"

As you sit here under the sun, birds chirping, stream babbling, and with the woman you love, only one thing comes to mind.

"New beginnings?" Quinn's soft laugh rings through the air, making you laugh too. "Too cliché?"

"No, I like it," her laugh settles into an adoring smile. "New beginnings."

You meet her glass with yours, eyes never falling from hers even as you both take a sip.

Your glasses lower but she still looks at you, her eyes drawing you closer until you're physically compelled to close the distance and kiss her. Her skin is warm and soft, inviting as it always is, her lips even more so. The wine you taste on her lips could be as much your own taste as hers as you drink her in.

When you break away you don't move back, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

"What are your feelings on exhibitionism?"

Quinn's head tilts back in a full-bellied laugh so contagious you're both laughing for a minute straight.

"Shut." She kisses you. "Up." Between each word.

"What I'm hearing is 'I'm interested'."

She holds your face in her hands, eyes running across your every feature. Subject to such scrutiny might normally unnerve you, but with Quinn, you can't help but feel utterly revered.

"I love you," the words dance across your lips, making them tingle.

"I love you," you tell her in return.

The weight of those three words never meant much to you until all you could ever do was talk, think, dream about the woman in front of you. And now they mean everything. If those three words express even a fraction of what you've come to feel about Quinn Fabray, you'll happily say them to her every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey, guys! I've really enjoyed writing this story and had fun with it. It has made my day whenever I've read one of your guys' comments and seen you've enjoyed reading it as well. Thank you so much for your words, they have encouraged me a lot and I always appreciate what you have to say. For now I'll be leaving these two here, but you best believe there'll be more Quinntana from me. As always, til next time. Buh-byeeeeeeee!
> 
> Edit: Yo... so about that wordcount... lollllllll


End file.
